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“But Donnegan calmly spun the cylinder of his revolver.” 

(Frontispiece , Page 69.) 



DONNEGAN 


A Western Story 


BY 

GEORGE OWEN BAXTER 


AUTHOR OR 

“Free Range Fanning’’ 



CHELSEA HOUSE 


79 Seventh Avenue New York City 




Copyright, 1923 
By CHELSEA HOUSE 


Donnegan 



(Printed in the United States of America) 

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign 
languages, including the Scandinavian. 


M 18 ’23 

©C1AG00053 



r* ^ 

IS 

«t>^- 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Tale of Donnegan . a 

m 


PAGE 

II 

II. 

Donnegan Sleeps . 

a 


18 

III. 

He Wakes 



24 

IV. 

He Ends One Trail 



30 

V. 

He Sees a Vision 



36 

VI, 

He Listens 



43 

VII. 

He Sees the Devil . 



50 

V,1II. 

He Reads the Devil’s Mind 



56 

IX. 

He Sells His Soul . 



62 

X. 

He Takes the New Trail 



7 i 

XI. 

He Eats Humble Pie 



78 

XII. 

He Fights Temptation , 



85 

XIII. 

He Eavesdrops . 



92 

XIV. 

Donnegan Finds a Plan 



100 

XV. 

He Steals a Man . 

w 


106 

XVI. 

He Makes a New Scheme 


s 

114 

XVII. 

He Steps on the Stage . 


y 

122 

XVIII. 

He Calls for the Spotlight 


• 

130 

XIX. 

He Gives Alms 


• 

139 

XX. 

He Dances . . . 


* 

145 

XXI. 

He Stands in Peril « 


• 

152 

XXII. 

He Receives a Blow 


• 

158 

XXIII. 

He Fights 


• 

164 


IX 




X 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


CHAPTER 


XXIV. 

He Sees the Devil Again 

. 

. 

i/i 

XXV. 

He Passes Through the Fire 

. 

178 

XXVI. 

He Hunts Trouble . 


. 

186 

XXVII. 

He Talks of Love . 



193 

XXVIII. 

He Steals His Second Man 


. 

199 

XXIX. 

His Arch Enemy Appears 


. 

206 

XXX. 

He is Lured from Danger 


. 

212 

XXXI. 

He Reveals Himself 


. 

219 

XXXII. 

He Opens His Heart 


. 

228 

XXXIII. 

He Denies His Brother . 


. 

234 

XXXIV. 

He Enters the Black Pit 


* 

244 

XXXV. 

He is Talked Of 


. 

252 

XXXVI. 

He Tells New Lies 


. 

259 

XXXVII. 

He Conquers . 


. 

268 

XXXVIII. 

He is Tempted With Gold 


. 

275 

XXXIX. 

He Has an Ally 


. 

283 

XL. 

He is Both Warned and Betrayed 

292 

XLI. 

Tokens of His Handiwork 


. 

298 

XLII. 

He Makes a Prayer 

• 

. 

305 

XLIII. 

The Sacrifice . 


. 

3 ii 

XLIV. 

He Finds Salvation 

O) 

• 

3 x 8 



DONNEGAN 

CHAPTER I 

TALE OF DONNEGAN 

T HE fifty empty freights danced and rolled and 
rattled on the rough road bed and filled Jeri¬ 
cho Pass with thunder; the big engine was laboring 
and grunting at the grade, but five cars back the 
noise of the locomotive was lost. Yet there is a 
way to talk above the noise of a freight train just 
as there is a way to whistle into the teeth of a stiff 
wind. This freight-car talk is pitched just above 
the ordinary tone—it is an overtone of conversa¬ 
tion, one might say—and it is distinctly nasal. The 
brakie could talk above the racket, and so, of course, 
could “Lefty” Joe. They sat about in the center 
of the train, on the forward end of one of the 
cars. No matter how the train lurched and staggered 
over that fearful road bed, these two swayed in 
their places as easily and as safely as birds on 
swinging perches. The brakie had touched Lefty 
Joe for two dollars; he had secured fifty cents; 
and since the vigor of Lefty’s oaths had convinced 
him that this was all the money the tramp had, the 
two now sat elbow to elbow and killed the distance 
with their talk. 

“It’s like old times to have you here,” said the 
brakie. “You used to play this line when you 
jumped from coast to coast.” 


12 


DONNEGAN 


“Sure,” said Lefty Joe, and he scowled at the 
mountains on either side of the pass. The train 
was gathering speed, and the peaks lurched eastward 
in a confused, ragged procession. “And a durned 
hard ride it’s been many a time.” 

“Kind of queer to see you,” continued the brakie. 
“Heard you was rising in the world.” 

He caught the face of the other with a rapid side 
glance, but Lefty Joe was sufficiently concealed by 
the dark. 

“Heard you were the main guy with a whole 
crowd behind you,” went on the brakie. 

“Yeh?” 

“Sure. Heard you was riding the cushions, and 
all that.” 

“Yeh?” 

“But I guess it was all bunk; here you are back 
again, anyway.” 

“Yep,” agreed Lefty. 

The brakie scratched his head, for the silence of 
the tramp convinced him that there had been, after 
all, a good deal of truth in the rumor. He ran back 
on another tack and slipped about Lefty. 

“I never laid much on what they said,” he averred. 
“I know you, Lefty; you can do a lot, but when 
it comes to leading a whole gang, like they said 
you -was, and all that—well, I knew it was a lie. 
Used to tell ’em that.” 

“You talked foolish, then,” burst out Lefty sud¬ 
denly. “It was all straight.” 

The brakie could hear the click of his compan¬ 
ion’s teeth at the period to this statement, as though 
he regretted his outburst. 

“Well, I’l be hanged,” murmured the brakie inno¬ 
cently. 


TALE OF DONNEGAN 


13 


Ordinarily, Lefty was not easily lured, but this 
night he apparently was in the mood for talk. 

“Kennebec Lou, The Clipper, and Suds. Them 
and a lot more. They was all with me; they was 
all under me; I was the Main Guy!” 

What a ring in his voice as he said it! The 
beaten general speaks thus of his past triumphs. 
The old man remembered his youth in such a voice. 
The brakie was impressed; he repeated the three 
names. 

“Even Suds?” he said. “Was even Suds with 
you?” 

“Even Suds!” 

The brakie stirred a little, wabbling from side to 
side as he found a more comfortable position; in¬ 
stead of looking straight before him, he kept a side- 
glance steadily upon his companion, and one could 
see that he intended to remember what was said 
on this night. 

“Even Suds,” echoed the brakie. “Good heavens, 
and ain’t he a man for you?” 

“He was a man,” replied Lefty Joe with an in¬ 
describable emphasis. 

“Huh?” 

“He ain’t a man any more.” 

“Get bumped off?” 

“No. Busted.” 

The brakie considered this bit of news and rolled 
it back and forth and tried its flavor against his 
gossiping palate. 

“Did you fix him after he left you?” 

“No.” 

“I see. You busted him while he was still with 
you. Then Kennebec Lou and The Clipper get sore 
at the way you treat Suds. So here you are back 


14 


DONNEGAN 


on the road with your gang all gone bust. Hard 
luck, Lefty.” 

But Lefty whined with rage at this careless 
diagnosis of his downfall. 

“You’re all wrong,” he said. “You’re all wrong. 
You don’t know nothin’.” 

The brakie waited, grinning securely into the 
night, and preparing his mind for the story. But 
the story consisted of one word, flung bitterly into 
the rushing air. 

“Donnegan!” 

“Him?” cried the brakie, starting in his place. 

“Donnegan!” cried Lefty, and his voice made the 
word into a curse. 

The brakie nodded. 

“Them that get tangled with Donnegan don’t last 
long. You ought to know that.” 

At this the grief, hate, and rage in Lefty Joe 
were blended and caused an explosion. 

“Confound Donnegan. Who’s Donnegan? I 
ask you, who’s Donnegan?” 

“A guy that makes trouble,” replied the brakie, 
evidently hard put to it to find a definition. 

“Oh, don’t he make it, though? Confound him!” 

“You ought to of stayed shut of him, Lefty.” 

“Did I hunt him up, I ask you? Am I a nut? 
No, I ain’t. Do I go along stepping on the tail of 
a rattlesnake? No more do I look up Donnegan.” 

He groaned as he remembered. 

“I was going fine. Nothing could of been better. 
I had the boys together. We was doing so well 
that I was riding the cushions and I went around 
planting the jobs. Nice, clean work. No cans tied 
to it. But one day I had to meet Suds down in the 
Meriton Jungle. You know?” 


TALE OF DONNEGAN 


15 


“I’ve heard—plenty,” said the brakie. 

“Oh, it ain’t so bad—the Meriton. I’ve seen a 
lot worse. Found Suds there, and Suds was play¬ 
ing Black Jack with an old gink. He was trimmin’ 
him close. Get Suds going good and he could read 
’em three down and bury ’em as fast as they came 
under the bottom card. Takes a hand to do that 
sort of work. And that’s the sort of work Suds was 
doing for the old man. Pretty soon the game was 
over and the old man was busted. He took up his 
pack and beat it, saying nothing and looking sick. 
I started talking to Suds. 

“And while he was talking, along comes a bo and 
gives us a once-over. He knew me. Ts this here 
a friend of yours, Lefty?’ he says. 

“ ‘Sure,’ says I. 

“ ‘Then, he’s in Dutch. He trimmed that old Dad, 
and The Dad is one of Donnegan’s pals. Wait till 
Donnegan hears how your friend made the cards 
talk while he was skinning the old boy!’ 

“He passes me the wink and goes on. Made me 
sick. I turned to Suds, and the fool hadn’t batted 
an eye. Never even heard of Donnegan. You 
know how it is? Half the road never heard of it; 
part of the roads don’t know nothin’ else. He’s 
like a jumping tornado; hits every ten miles and 
don't bend a blade of grass in between. 

“Took me about five minutes to tell Suds about 
Donnegan. Then Suds let out a grunt and started 
down the trail for the old Dad. Missed him. Dad 
had got out of the Jungle and copped a rattler. 
Suds come back half green and half yeller, 

“ ‘I’ve done it; I’ve spilled the beans,’ he says. 

“ ‘That ain’t half sayin’ it,’ says I. 

“Well, we lit out after that and beat it down 


i6 


DONNEGAN 


the line as fast as we could. We got the rest of 
the boys together; I had a swell job planned up. 
Everything staked. Then, the first news come that 
Donnegan was after Suds. 

“News just dropped on us out of the sky. Suds, 
you know how he is. Strong bluff. Didn’t bat an 
eye. Laughed at this Donnegan. Got a hold of an 
old pal of his, named Levine, and he is a mighty 
hot scrapper. From a knife to a toenail, they was 
nothing that Levine couldn’t use in a fight. Suds 
sent him out to cross Donnegan’s trail. 

“He crossed it, well enough. Suds got a telegram 
a couple of days later saying that Levine had run 
into a wild cat and was considerable chawed and 
would Suds send him a stake to pay the doctor? 

“Well, after that Suds got sort of nervous. Didn’t 
take no interest in his work no more. Kept a 
weather eye out watching for the coming of Donne¬ 
gan. And pretty soon he up and cleaned out of 
camp. 

“Next day, sure enough, along comes Donnegan 
and asks for Suds. We kept still—all but Kennebec 
Lou. Kennebec is some fighter himself. Two hun¬ 
dred pounds of mule muscle with the brain of a devil 
to tell what to do—yes, you can lay it ten to one 
that Kennebec is some fighter. That day he had a 
good edge from a bottle of rye he was trying for 
a friend. 

“He didn’t need to go far to find trouble in 
Donnegan. A wink and a grin was all they needed 
for a password, and then they went at each other’s 
throats. Kennebec made the first pass and hit thin 
air; and before he got back on his heels, Donnegan 
had hit him four times. Then Kennebec jumped 
back and took a fresh start with a knife.” 


TALE OF DONNEGAN 


17 


Here Lefty Joe paused and sighed. 

He continued, after a long interval: “Five min¬ 
utes later we was all busy tyin’ up what was left of 
Kennebec; Donnegan was down the road whistlin’ 
like a bird. And that was the end of my gang. 
What with Kennebec Lou and Suds both gone, what 
chance did I have to hold the boys together?” 


CHAPTER II 


DONNEGAN SLEEPS 

T PIE brakie heard this recital with the keenest 
interest, nodding from time to time. 

“What beats me, Lefty,” he said at the end of the 
story, “is why you didn’t knife into the fight your¬ 
self and take a hand with Donnegan.” 

At this Lefty was silent. It was rather the silence 
of one who cannot tell whether or not it is worth 
while to speak than it was the silence of one who 
needs time for thought. 

“I’ll tell you why, bo. It’s because when I take 
a trail like that, it only has one end. I’m going 
to bump off the other bird or he’s going to bump 
off me.” 

The brakie cleared his throat. 

“Look here,” he said, “looks to me like a queer 
thing that you’re on this train.” 

“Does it?” queried Lefty softly. “Why?” 
“Because Donnegan is two cars back, asleep.” 
“The devil you say!” 

The brakie broke into laughter. 

“Don’t kid yourself along,” he warned. “Don’t 
do it. It ain’t wise—with me.” 

“What you mean?” 

“Come on, Lefty. Come clean. You better do 
a fade off this train.” 

“Why, you fool-” 

“It don’t work, Joe. Why, the minute I seen you 
I knew why you was here. I knew you meant to 
croak Donnegan.” 



DONNEGAN SLEEPS 


19 


“Me croak him? Why should I croak him?” 

“Because you been trailing him two thousand 
miles. Because you ain’t got the nerve to meet 
him face to face and you got to sneak in and take 
a crack at him while he’s lying asleep. That’s 
you, Lefty Joe!” 

He saw Lefty sway toward him; but, all stories 
aside, it is a very bold tramp that cares for argu¬ 
ment of a serious nature with a brakie. And even 
Lefty Joe was deterred from violent action. In 
the darkness his upper lip twitched, but he care¬ 
fully smoothed his voice. 

“You don’t know nothing, pal,” he declared. 
“Don’t I?” 

“Nothing,” repeated Lefty. 

He reached into his clothes and produced some¬ 
thing which rustled in the rush of wind. He fum¬ 
bled, and finally passed a scrap of the paper into 
the hand of the brakie. 

“My heavens,” drawled the latter. “D’you think 
you can fix me with a buck for a job like this? 
You can’t bribe me to stand around while you bump 
off Donnegan. Can’t be done, Lefty!” 

“One buck, did you say?” 

Lefty Joe expertly lighted a match in spite of 
the roaring wind, and by this wild light the brakie 
read the denomination of the bill with a gasp. He 
rolled up his eyes and was in time to catch the 
sneer on the face of Lefty before a gust snatched 
away the light of the match. 

“Well?” queried Lefty Joe. 

They had topped the highest point in Jericho 
Pass and now the long train dropped into the down 
grade with terrific speed. The wind became a 
hurricane. But to the brakie all this was no more 


20 


DONNEGAN 


than calm night. His thoughts were raging in him, 
and if he looked back far enough he remembered 
the dollar which Donnegan had given him; and how 
he had promised Donnegan to give the yarning 
before anything went wrong. He thought of this, 
but rustling against the palm of his right hand was 
the bill whose denomination he had read, and that 
figure ate into his memory, ate into his brain. 

After all what was Donnegan to him? What was 
Donnegan but a worthless tramp? Without any 
answer to that last monosyllabic query, the brakie 
hunched forward, and began to work his way up 
the train. 

The tramp watched him go with laughter. It was 
silent laughter. In the most quiet room it would 
not have sounded louder than a continual, light hiss¬ 
ing noise. Then he, in turn, moved from his place, 
and worked his way along the train in the opposite 
direction to that in which the brakie had disappeared. 

He went expertly, swinging from car to car with 
apelike clumsiness—and surety. Two cars back. 
It was not so easy to reach the sliding side door of 
that empty car. Considering the fact that it was 
night, that the train was bucking furiously over the 
old roadbed, Lefty had a not altogether simple task 
before him. But he managed it with the same ape¬ 
like adroitness. He could climb with his feet as 
well as his hands. He would trust a ledge as well 
as he would trust the rung of a ladder. 

Under his discreet manipulations from above 
the door loosened and it became possible to work 
it back. But even this the tramp did with consid¬ 
erable care. He took advantage of the lurching of 
the train, and every time the car jerked he forced 
the door to roll a little, so that it might seem for 


DONNEGAN SLEEPS 


21 


all the world as though the motion of the train alone 
were operating it. 

For suppose that Donnegan wakened out of his 
sound sleep and observed the motion of the door; 
he would be suspicious if the door opened in a 
single continued motion; but if it worked in these 
degrees he would be hypersuspicious if he dreamed 
of danger. So the tramp gave five whole minutes 
to that work. 

When it was done he waited for a time, another 
five minutes, perhaps, to see if the door would be 
moved back. And when it was not disturbed, but 
allowed to stand open, he knew that Donnegan still 
slept. 

It was time then for action, and Lefty Joe pre¬ 
pared for the descent into the home of the enemy. 
Let it not be thought that he approached this mo¬ 
ment with a fallen heart, and with a cringing, snaky 
feeling as a man might be expected to feel when he 
approached to murder a sleeping foeman. For that 
was not Lefty's emotion at all. Rather he was over¬ 
come by a tremendous happiness. He could have 
sung with joy at the thought that he was about to 
rid himself of this pest. 

True, the gang was broken up. But it might rise 
again. Donnegan had fallen upon it like a bight. 
But with Donnegan out of the way would not 
Suds come back to him instantly? And would not 
Kennebec Lou himself return in admiration of a man 
who had done what he, Kennebec, could not do? 
With those two as a nucleus, how greatly might he 
not build! 

Justice must be done to Lefty Joe. He ap¬ 
proached this murder as a statesman approaches 
the removal of a foe from the path of public 


22 


DONNEGAN 


prosperity. There was no more rancor in his atti¬ 
tude. It was rather the blissful largeness of the 
heart that comes to the politician when he unearths 
the scandal which will blight the race of his rival. 

With the peaceful smile of a child, therefore, 
Lefty Joe lay stretched at full length along the top 
of the car and made his choice of weapons. On 
the whole, his usual preference, day or night, was 
for a revolver. Give him a gat and Lefty was at 
home in any company. But he had reasons for 
transferring his alliance on this occasion. In the 
first place, a box car which is reeling and pitching 
to and fro, from side to side, is not a very good 
shooting platform—even for a snapshot like Lefty 
Joe. Also, the pitch darkness in the car would 
be a further annoyance to good aim. And in the 
third and most decisive place, if he were to miss 
his first shot he would not be extremely apt to place 
his second bullet. For Donnegan had a reputation 
with his own revolver. Indeed, it was said that he 
rarely carried the weapon, because when he did he 
was always tempted too strongly to use it. So 
that the chances were large that Donnegan would 
not have the gun now. Yet if he did have it— 
if he, Lefty, did miss his first shot—then the story 
would be brief and bitter indeed. 

On the other hand, a knife offered advantages 
almost too numerous to be listed. It gave one 
the deadly assurance which only comes with the 
knowledge of an edge of steel in one's hand. And 
when the knife reaches its mark it ends a battle at 
a stroke. 

Of course these doubts and considerations pro 
and con went through the mind of the tramp in 
about the same space of time that it requires for a 


DONNEGAN SLEEPS 


23 


dog to waken, snap at a fly, and drowse again. 
Eventually, he took out his knife. It was a sheath 
knife which he wore from a noose of silk around 
his throat, and it always lay closest to his heart. 
The blade of the knife was of the finest Spanish 
steel, in the days when Spanish smiths knew how 
to draw out steel to a streak of light; the handle 
of the knife was from Milan. On the whole, it was 
a delicate and beautiful weapon—and it had the 
durable suppleness of—say—hatred itself. 

Lefty Joe, like a pirate in a tale, took this 
weapon between his teeth; allowed his squat, heavy 
bulk to swing down and dangle at arm’s length for 
an instant, and then he swung himself a little and 
landed softly on the floor of the car. 

Who has not heard snow drop from the branch 
upon other snow beneath? That was the way Lefty 
Joe dropped to the floor of the car. He remained 
as he had fallen; crouched, alert, with one hand 
spread out on the boards to balance him and give 
him a leverage and a start in case he should wish 
to spring in any direction. 

Then he began to probe the darkness in every 
direction; with every glance he allowed his head 
to dart out a little. The movement was like a 
chicken pecking at imaginary grains of corn. But 
eventually he satisfied himself that his quarry lay 
in the forward end of the car; that he was prone; 
that he, Lefty, had accomplished nine tenths of his 
purpose by entering the place of his enemy unob- 
. served. 


CHAPTER III 


HE WAKES 

B UT even though this major step was accom¬ 
plished successfully, Lefty Joe was not the 
man to abandon caution in the midst of an enter¬ 
prise. The roar of the train would have covered 
sounds ten times as loud as those of his snaky 
approach, yet he glided forward with as much care 
as though he were stepping on old stairs in a silent 
house. He could see a vague shadow—Donnegan; 
but chiefly he worked by that peculiar sense of 
direction which some people possess in a dim light. 
The blind, of course, have that sense in a high 
degree of sensitiveness, but even those who are not 
blind may learn to trust the peculiar and inverted 
sense of direction. 

With this to aid him, Lefty Joe went steadily, 
slowly across the first and most dangerous stage 
of his journey. That is, he got away from the 
square of the open door, where the faint starlight 
might vaguely serve to silhouette his body. After 
this, it was easier work. 

Of course, when he alighted on the floor of the 
car, the knife had been transferred from his teeth 
to his left hand; and all during his progress forward 
the knife was being balanced delicately, as though 
he were not yet quite sure of the weight of the 
weapon. Just as a prize fighter keeps his deadly, 
poised hands in play, moving them as though he 
fears to lose his intimate touch with them. 


HE WAKES 


2 S 


This stalking had occupied a matter of split sec¬ 
onds. Now Lefty Joe rose slowly. He was lean¬ 
ing very far forward, and he warded against the 
roll of the car by spreading out his right hand close 
to the floor; his left hand he poised with the knife, 
and he began to gather his muscles for the leap. 
He had already taken the last preliminary move¬ 
ment—he had swung himself to the right side a 
little and, lightening his left foot, had thrown all 
his weight upon the right—in fact, his body was 
literally suspended in the instant of springing, cat¬ 
like, when the shadow which was Donnegan came 
to life. 

The shadow convulsed as shadows are apt to 
swirl in a green pool when a stone is dropped into 
it; and a bit of board two feet long and some eight 
inches wide crackled against the shins of Lefty Joe. 

It was about the least dramatic weapon that could 
have been chosen under those circumstances, but 
certainly no other defense could have frustrated 
Lefty’s spring so completely. Instead of launching 
out in a compact mass whose point of contact was 
the reaching knife, Lefty crawled stupidly forward 
upon his knees, and had to throw out his knife 
hand to save his balance. 

It is a singular thing to note how important 
balance is to men. Animals fight, as a rule, just as 
well on their backs as they do on their feet. They 
can lie on their sides and bite; they can swing 
their claws even while they are dropping through 
the air. But man needs poise and balance before 
he can act. What is speed in a fighter? It is not 
so much an affair of the muscles as it is the power 
of the brain to adapt itself instantly to each new 
move and put the body in a state of balance. In 


20 


DOMNEGAN 


the prize ring speed does not mean the ability to 
strike one lightning blow, but rather that, having 
finished one drive, the fighter is in position to hit 
tigain, and then again, so that no matter where the 
impetus of his last lunge has placed him he is ready 
and poised to shoot all his weight behind his fist 
again and drive it accurately at a vulnerable spot. 
Individually the actions may be slow; but the series 
of efforts seem rapid. That is why a superior boxer 
seems to hypnotize his antagonist with movements 
which to the spectator seem perfectly easy, slow, 
and sure. 

But if Lefty lacked much in agility, he had an 
animallike sense of balance. Sprawling, helpless, 
he saw the convulsed shadow that was Donnegan 
take form as a straight shooting body that plunged 
through the air above him. Lefty Joe dug his left 
elbow into the floor of the car and whirled back 
upon his shoulders, bunching his knees high over 
his stomach. Nine chances out of ten, if Donnegan 
had fallen flatwise upon this alert enemy, he would 
have received those knees in the pit of his own 
stomach and instantly been paralyzed. But in the 
jumping, rattling car even Donnegan was capable 
of making mistakes. His mistake in this instance 
saved his life, for springing too far, he came down 
not in reaching distance of Lefty’s throat, but with 
his chest on the knees of the older tramp. 

As a result, Donnegan was promptly kicked head 
over heels and tumbled the length of the car. Lefty 
was on his feet and plunging after the tumbling 
form in the twinkling of an eye, literally speaking, 
and he was only kept from burying his knife in 
the flesh of his foe by a sway of the car that stag¬ 
gered him in the act of striking. Donnegan, the 


HE WAKES 


27 


next instant, was beyond reach. He had ’struck the 
end of the car and rebounded like a ball of rubber 
at a tangent. He slid into the shadows, and Lefty, 
putting his own shoulders to the wall, felt for his 
revolver and knew that he was lost. He had failed 
in his first surprise attack, and without surprise to 
help him now he was gone. He weighed his re¬ 
volver, decided that it would be madness to use it, 
for if he missed, Donnegan would instantly be 
guided by the flash to shoot him full of holes. 

Something slipped by the open door—something 
that glimmered faintly; and Lefty Joe knew that 
it was the red head of Donnegan. Donnegan, soft- 
footed as a shadow among shadows. Donnegan on 
a blood trail. It lowered the heart beat of Lefty 
Joe to a tremendous, slow pulse. In that moment 
he gave up hope and, resigning himself to die, 
determined to fight to the last gasp, as became one 
of his reputation and national celebrity on “the 
road.” 

Yet Lefty Joe was no common man and no 
common fighter. No, let the shade of “Rusty” Dick, 
whom Lefty met and beat in his glorious prime— 
let this shade arise and speak for the prowess of 
Lefty Joe. In fact it was because he was such a 
good fighter himself that he recognized his help¬ 
lessness in the hands of Donnegan. 

The faint glimmer of color had passed the door. 
It was dissolved in deeper shadows at once, and 
soundlessly; Lefty knew that Donnegan was close 
and closer. 

Of one thing he felt more and more confident, 
that Donnegan did not have his revolver with him. 
Otherwise he would have used it before. For what 
was darkness to this devil, Donnegan. He walked 


28 


DONNEGAN 


like a cat, and most likely he could see like a cat 
in the dark. Instinctively the older tramp braced 
himself with his right hand held at a guard before 
his breast and the knife poised in his left, just as 
a man would prepare to meet the attack of a 
panther. He even took to probing the darkness 
in a strange hope to catch the glimmer of the eyes 
of Donnegan as he moved to the attack. If there 
were a hair’s breadth of light, then Donnegan him¬ 
self must go down. A single blow would do it. 

But the devil had instructed his favorite Donne¬ 
gan how to fight. He did not come lunging through 
the shadows to meet the point of that knife. In¬ 
stead, he had worked a snaky way along the floor 
and now he leaped in and up at Lefty, taking him 
under the arms. 

A dozen hands, it seemed, laid hold on Lefty. 
He fought like a demon and tore himself away, 
but the multitude of hands pursued him. They 
were small hands. Where they closed they tore 
the clothes and bit into his very flesh. Once a 
hand had him by the throat, and when Lefty jerked 
himself away it was with a feeling that his flesh 
had been seered by five points of red-hot iron. All 
this time his knife was darting; once it ripped 
through cloth, but never once did it find the target. 
And half a second later Donnegan got his hold. 
The flash of the knife as Lefty raised it must have 
guided the other. He shot his right hand up be¬ 
hind the left shoulder of the other and imprisoned 
the wrist. Not only did it make the knife hand 
helpless, but by bearing down with his own weight 
Donnegan could put his enemy in most exquisite 
torture. 

For an instant they whirled; then they went down. 


HE WAKES 


29 


and Lefty was on top. Only for a moment. The 
impetus which had sent him to the floor was used 
by Donnegan to turn them over, and once fairly 
on top his left hand was instantly at the throat 
of Lefty. 

Twice Lefty made enormous efforts, but then he 
was done. About his body the limbs of Donnegan 
were twisted, tightening with incredible force; just 
as hot iron bands sink resistlessly into place. The 
strangle hold cut away life at its source. Once 
he strove to bury his teeth in the arm of Donne¬ 
gan. Once, as the horror caught at him, he strove 
to shriek for help. All he succeeded in doing was 
in raising an awful, sobbing whisper. Then, look¬ 
ing death in the face, Lefty plunged into the great 
darkness. 


CHAPTER IV 


HE ENDS ONE TRAIL 

YF7HEN he wakened, he jumped at a stride into 
VV the full possession of his faculties. He had 
been placed near the open door, and the rush of 
night air had done its work in reviving him. But 
Lefty, drawn back to life, felt only a vague wonder 
that his life had not been taken. Perhaps he was 
being reserved by the victor for an Indian death 
of torment. He felt cautiously and found that not 
only were his hands free, but his revolver had not 
been taken from him. A familiar weight was on 
his chest—the very knife had been returned to its 
sheath. 

Had Donnegan returned these things to show how 
perfectly he despised his enemy? 

“He’s gone!” groaned the tramp, sitting up 
quickly. 

“He’s here,” said a voice that cut easily through 
the roar of the train. “Waiting for you, Lefty.” 

The tramp was staggered again. But then, who 
had ever been able to fathom the ways of Donnegan? 

“Donnegan!” he cried with a sudden reckless¬ 
ness. 

“Yes?” 

“You’re a fool!” 

“Yes?” 

“For not finishing the job.” 

Donnegan began to laugh. In the uproar of the 
train it was impossible really to hear the sound, but 


HE ENDS ONE TRAIL 


3i 


Lefty caught the pulse of it. He fingered his 
bruised throat; swallowing was a painful effort. 
And an indescribable feeling came over him as he 
realized that he sat armed to the teeth within a yard 
of the man he wanted to kill, and yet he was as 
effectively rendered helpless as though iron shackles 
had been locked on his wrists and legs. The night 
light came through the doorway, and he could make 
out the slender outline of Donnegan and again he 
caught the faint luster of that red hair; and out of 
the shadowy form a singular power emanated and 
sapped his strength at the root. 

Yet he went on viciously: “Sooner or later, Don¬ 
negan, I'll get you!” 

The red head of Donnegan moved, and Lefty 
Joe knew that the younger man was laughing again. 

“Why are you after me?” he asked at length. 

It was another blow in the face of Lefty. He 
sat for a time blinking with owlish stupidity. 

“Why?” he echoed. “Oh, my heavings!” 

And he spoke his astonishment from the heart. 

“Why am I after you?” he said again. “Why, 
confound you, ain’t you Donnegan?” 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t the whole road know that I’m after you 
and you after me?” 

“The whole road is crazy. I’m not after you.” 

Lefty choked. 

“Maybe I been dreaming. Maybe you didn’t bust 
up the gang? Maybe you didn’t clean up on Suds 
and Kennebec?” 

“Suds? Kennebec? I sort of remember meet¬ 
ing them.” 

“You sort of—the devil!” Lefty Joe sputtered 
the words. “And after you cleaned up my crowd, 


32 


DONNEGAN 


airn’t it natural and good sense for you to go on 
and try to clean up on me?” 

“Sounds like it.” 

“But I figured to beat you to it. I cut in on 
your trail, Donnegan, and before I leave it you’ll 
know a lot more about me.” 

“You’re warning me ahead of time?” 

“You’ve played this game square with me; I’ll 
play square with you. Next time there’ll be no slips, 
Donnegan. I dunno why you should of picked on 
me, though. Just the natural devil in you.” 

“I haven’t picked on you,” said Donnegan. 

“What?” 

“I’ll give you my word.” 

A tingle ran through the blood of Lefty Joe. 
Somewhere he had heard, in rumor, that the word 
of Donnegan was as good as gold. He recalled 
that rumor now and something of dignity in the 
manner with which Donnegan made his announce¬ 
ment carried a heavy weight. As a rule, the tramps 
vowed with many oaths, here was one of the 
knights of the road who made his bare word suf¬ 
ficient. And Lefty Joe heard with great wonder. 

“All I ask,” he said, “is why you hounded my 
gang, if you wasn’t after me?” 

“I didn’t hound them. I ran into Suds by acci¬ 
dent. We had trouble. Then Levine. Then Kenne¬ 
bec Lou tried to take a fall out of me.” 

A note of whimsical protest crept into the voice 
of Donnegan. 

“Somehow there’s always a fight wherever I go,” 
he said. “Fights just sort of grow up around me.” 

Lefty Joe snarled. 

“You didn’t mean nothing by just ‘happening’ to 
run into three of my boys one after another?” 


HE ENDS ONE TRAIL 


33 


“Not a thing.” 

Lefty rocked himself back and forth in an ecstacy 
of impatience. 

“Why don’t you stay put?” he complained. “Why 
don’t you stake out your own ground and stay 
put in it. You cut in on every guy’s territory. 
There ain’t any privacy any more since you hit the 
road. What you got? A roving commission?” 

Donnegan waited for a moment before he an¬ 
swered. And when he spoke his voice had altered. 
Indeed, he had remarkable ability to pitch his voice 
into the roar of the freight train, and above or 
beneath it, and give it a quality such as he pleased. 

“I’m following a trail, but not yours,” he ad¬ 
mitted at length. “I’m following a trail. I’ve 
been at it these two years and nothing has come 
of it.” 

“Who you after?” 

“A man with red hair.” 

“That tells me a lot.” 

Donnegan refused to explain. 

“What you got against him—the color of his 
hair ?” 

And Lefty roared contentedly at his own stale 
jest. 

“It’s no good,” replied Donnegan. “I’ll never 
get on the trail.” 

Lefty broke in: “You mean to say you’ve been 
working two solid years and all on a trail that you 
ain’t even found?” 

The silence answered him in the affirmative. 

“Ain’t nobody been able to tip you off to him ?” 
went on Lefty, intensely interested. 

“Nobody. You see, he’s a hard sort to describe. 
Red hair, that’s all there was about him for a clew. 


34 


DONNEGAN 


But if any one ever saw him stripped they’d re¬ 
member him by a big, blotchy birthmark on his 
left shoulder.” 

“Eh?” grunted Lefty Joe. 

He added: “What was his name?” 

“Don’t know. He changed monikers when he 
took to the road.” 

“What was he to you?” 

“A man I’m going to find.” 

“No matter where the trail takes you?” 

“No matter where.” 

At this Lefty was seized with unaccountable 
laughter. He literally strained his lungs with that 
Homeric outburst. When he wiped the tears from 
his eyes, at length, the shadow on the opposite side 
of the doorway had disappeared. He found his 
companion leaning over him, and this time he could 
catch the dull glint of starlight on both hair and 
eyes. 

“What d’you know?” asked Donnegan. 

“How do you stand toward this bird with the 
birthmark and the red hair?” queried Lefty with 
caution. 

“What d’you know?” insisted Donnegan. 

All at once passion shook him; he fastened his 
grip in the shoulder of the larger man, and his 
finger tips worked toward the bone. 

“What do you know?” he repeated for the third 
time, and now there was no hint of laughter in 
the hard voice of Lefty. 

“You fool, if you follow that trail you’ll go to 
the devil. It was Rusty Dick; and he’s dead!” 

His triumphant laughter came again, but Donne¬ 
gan cut into it. 

“Rusty Dick was the one you—killed!” 


HE ENDS ONE TRAIL 35 

“Sure. What of it? We fought fair and 
square.” 

“Then Rusty wasn’t the man I want. The man 
I want would of eaten two like you, Lefty.” 

“What about the birthmark? It sure was on his 
shoulder, Donnegan.” 

“Heavens!” whispered Donnegan. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Rusty Dick,” gasped Donnegan. “Yes, it must 
have been he.” 

“Sure it was. What did you have against him?” 

“It was a matter of blood—between us,” stam¬ 
mered Donnegan. 

His voice rose in a peculiar manner, so that 
Lefty shrank involuntarily. 

“You killed Rusty?” 

“Ask any of the boys. But between you and me, 
it was the booze that licked Rusty Dick. I just 
finished up the job and surprised everybody.” 

The train was out of the mountains and in a 
country of scattering hills, but here it struck a steep 
grade and settled down to a grind of slow labor; 
the rails hummed, and suspense filled the freight car. 

“Hey,” cried Lefty suddenly. “You fool, you’ll 
do a flop out the door in about a minute !” 

He even reached out to steady the toppling figure, 
but Donnegan pitched straight out into the night. 
Lefty craned his neck from the door, studying the 
roadbed, but at that moment the locomotive topped 
the little rise and the whole train lurched forward. 

“After all,” murmured Lefty Joe, “it sounds like 
Donnegan. Hated a guy so bad that he hadn’t any 
use for livin’ when he heard the other guy was dead. 
But I’m never goin’ to cross his path again, I hope.” 


CHAPTER V 


HE SEES A VISION 

B UT Donnegan had leaped clear of the roadbed, 
and he struck almost to the knees in a drift of 
sand. Otherwise, he might well have broken his legs 
with that foolhardy chance. As it was, the fall 
whirled him over and over, and by the time he had 
picked himself up the lighted caboose of the train 
was rocking past him. Donnegan watched it grow 
small in the distance, and then, when it was only 
a red, uncertain star far down the track, he turned 
to the vast country around him. 

The mountains were to his right, not far away, 
but caught up behind the shadows so that it seemed 
a great distance. Like all huge, half seen things 
they seemed in motion toward him. For the rest, 
he was in a bare, rolling country. The sky line 
everywhere was clean; there was hardly a sign of a 
tree. He knew, by a little reflection, that this must 
be a cattle country, for the brakie had intimated 
as much in their talk just before dusk. Now it was 
early night, and a wind began to rise, blowing down 
the valley with a keen motion and a rapidly lessening 
temperature, so that Donnegan saw he must get to 
a shelter. He could, if necessary, endure any priva¬ 
tion, but his tastes were for luxurious comfort. 
Accordingly he considered the landscape with gloomy 
disapproval. He was almost inclined to regret his 
plunge from the lumbering freight train. Two 
things had governed him in making that move. 


•HE SEES A VISION 


37 


First, when he discovered that the long trail he 
followed was definitely fruitless, he was filled with 
a great desire to cut himself away from his past 
and make a new start. Secondly, when he learned 
that Rusty Dick had been killed by Joe, he wanted 
desperately to get the throttle of the latter under his 
thumb. If ever a man risked his life to avoid a 
sin, it was Donnegan jumping from the train to 
keep from murder. 

He stooped to sight along the ground, for this 
is the best way at night and often horizon lights are 
revealed in this manner. But now Donnegan saw 
nothing to serve as a guide. He therefore drew 
in his belt until it fitted snug about his gaunt waist, 
settled his cap firmly, and headed straight into 
the wind. 

Nothing could have' shown his character more 
distinctly. When in doubt, head into the wind. 

With a jaunty, swinging step he sauntered along, 
and this time, at least, his tactics found an early 
reward. Topping the first large rise of ground, he 
saw in the hollow beneath him the outline of a large 
building. And as he approached it, the wind clear¬ 
ing a high blowing mist from the stars, he saw 
a jumble of outlying houses. Sheds, barns, corrals 
—it was the nucleus of a big ranch. It is a maxim 
that, if you wish to know a man look at his library, 
and if you wish to know a rancher, look at his 
barn. Donnegan made a small detour to the left 
and headed for the largest of the barns. 

He entered it by the big, sliding door, which 
stood open; he looked up, and saw the stars shining 
through a gap in the roof. And then he stood 
quietly for a time, listening to the voices of the 
wind in the ruin. Oddly enough, it was pleasant 


38 


DONNEGAN 


to Donnegan. His own troubles and sorrow had 
poured upon him so thickly in the past hour or so 
that it was soothing to find evidence of the distress 
of others. But perhaps this meant that the entire 
establishment was deserted. 

He left the barn and went toward the house. 
Not until he was close under its wall did he come 
to appreciate its size. It was one of those great, 
rambling, two-storied structures which the cattle 
kings of the past generation were fond of building. 
Standing close to it, he heard none of the intimate 
sounds of the storm blowing through cracks and 
broken walls; no matter into what disrepair the 
barns had fallen, the house was still solid; only 
about the edges of the building the storm kept mur¬ 
muring. 

Yet there was not a light, neither above nor 
below. He came to the front of the house. Still 
no sign of life. He stood at the door and knocked 
loudly upon it, and though, when he tried the 
knob, he found that the door was latched, yet no 
one came in response. He knocked again, and put¬ 
ting his ear close he heard the echoes walk through 
the interior of the building. 

After this, the wind rose in sudden strength and 
deafened him with rattlings; above him, a shutter 
was swung open and then crashed to. So that the 
opening of the door was a shock of surprise to 
Donnegan. A dim light from a source which he 
could not direct suffused the interior of the hall; 
the door itself was worked open a matter of inches 
and Donnegan was aware of two keen old eyes 
glittering out at him. Beyond this he could dis¬ 
tinguish nothing. 


HE SEES A VISION 


39 

“Who are you?” asked a woman’s voice. “And 
what do you want?” 

“I’m a stranger, and I want something to eat 
and a place to sleep. This house looks as if it 
might have spare rooms.” 

“Where d’you come from?” 

“Yonder,” said Donnegan, with a sufficiently non¬ 
committal gesture. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Donnegan.” 

“I don’t know you. Be off with you, Mr. Don¬ 
negan!” 

He inserted his foot in the closing crack of the 
door. 

“Tell me where I’m to go?” he persisted. 

At this her voice rose in pitch, with squeaky 
rage. 

“I’ll raise the house on you!” 

“Raise ’em. Call down the man of the house. 
I can talk to him better than I can to you; but I 
won’t walk off like this. If you can feed me, I’ll 
pay you for what I eat.” 

A shrill cackling—he could not make out the 
words. And since patience was not the first of 
Donnegan’s virtues, he seized on the knob of the 
door and deliberately pressed it wide. Standing in 
the hall, now, and closing the door slowly behind 
him, he saw a woman with old, keen eyes shrinking 
away toward the staircase. She was evidently in 
great fear, but there was something infinitely mali¬ 
cious in the manner in which she kept working her 
lips soundlessly. She was shrinking, and half 
turned away, yet there was a suggestion that in an 
instant she might whirl and fly at his face. The 


40 


DONNEGAN 


door now clicked, and with the windstorm shut away 
Donnegan had a queer feeling of being trapped. 

“Now call the man of the house/’ he repeated. 
“See if I can’t come to terms with him.” 

“He’d make short work of you if he came,” she 
replied. She broke into a shrill laughter, and Don¬ 
negan thought he had never seen a face so ugly. 
“If he came,” she said, “you’d rue the day.” 

“Well, I’ll talk to you, then. I’m not asking 
charity. I want to pay for what I get.” 

“This ain’t a hotel. You go on down the road. 
Inside eight miles you’ll come to the town.” 

“Eight miles!” 

“That’s nothing for a man to ride.” 

“Not at all, if I had something to ride.” 

“You ain’t got a horse?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you come here?” 

“I walked.” 

If this sharpened her suspicions, it sharpened her 
fear also. She put one foot on the lowest step of 
the stairs. 

“Be off with you, Mr. Donnegally, or whatever 
your outlandish name is. You’ll get nothing here. 
What brings you-” 

A door closed and a footstep sounded lightly on 
the floor above. And Donnegan, already alert in 
the strange atmosphere of this house, gave 'back a 
pace so as to get an honest wall behind him. He 
noted that the step was quick and small, and pre¬ 
paring himself to meet a wisp of manhood—which, 
for that matter, was the type he was most inclined 
to fear—Donnegan kept a corner glance upon the 
old woman at the foot of the stairs and steadily 
surveyed the shadows at the head of the rise. 



HE SEES A VISION 


4i 


Out of that darkness a foot slipped; not even a 
boy’s foot—a very child’s. The shock of it made 
Donnegan relax his caution for an instant, and in 
that instant she came into the reach of the light. 
It was a wretched light at best, for it came from 
a lamp with smoky chimney which the old hag 
carried, and at the raising and lowering of her 
hand the flame jumped and died in the throat of 
the chimney and set the hall awash with shadows. 
Falling away to a point of yellow, the lamp allowed 
the hall to assume a certain indefinite dignity of 
height and breadth and calm proportions; but when 
the flame rose Donnegan could see the broken 
balusters of the balustrade, the carpet, faded past 
any design and worn to rattiness, wall paper which 
had rotted or dried away and hung in crisp tatters 
here and there, and on the ceiling an irregular patch 
from which the plaster had fallen and exposed the 
lathwork. But at the coming of the girl the old 
woman had turned, and as she did the flame tossed 
up in the lamp and Donnegan could see the new¬ 
comer distinctly. 

Once before his heart had risen as it rose now. 
It had been the fag end of a long party, and Donne¬ 
gan, rousing from a drunken sleep, staggered to the 
window. Leaning there to get the freshness of the 
night air against his hot face, he had looked up, 
and saw the white face of the moon going up the 
sky; and a sudden sense of the blackness and loath¬ 
ing against the city had come upon Donnegan, and 
the murky color of his own life; and when he 
turned away from the window he was sober. And 
so it was that he now stared up at the girl. At 
her breast she held a cloak together with one hand 
and the other hand touched the railing of the stairs. 


42 


DONNEGAN 


He saw one foot suspended for the next step, as 
though the sight of him kept her back in fear. To 
the miserable soul of Donnegan she seemed all that 
was lovely, young, and pure; and her hair, old gold 
in the shadow and pale gold where the lamp struck 
it, was to Donnegan like a miraculous light about 
her face. 

Indeed, that little pause was a great and awful 
moment. For considering that Donnegan, who 
had gone through his whole life with his eyes ready 
to either mock or hate, and who had rarely used 
his hand except to make a fist of it; Donnegan who 
had never, so far as is known, had a companion; 
who had asked the world for action, not kindness; 
this Donnegan now stood straight with his back 
against the wall, and poured out the story of his 
wayward life to a mere slip of a girl. 


CHAPTER VI 


HE LISTENS 


E VEN the old woman, whose eyes were sharp¬ 
ened by her habit of looking constantly for 
the weaknesses and vices of men, could not guess 
what was going on behind the thin, rather ugly face 
of Donnegan; the girl, perhaps, may have seen more. 
For she caught the glitter of his active eyes even 
at that distance. The hag began to explain with 
vicious gestures that set the light flaring up and 
down. 


“He ain’t come from nowhere, Lou,” she said. 
“He ain’t going nowhere; he wants to stay here 
for the night.” 

The foot which had been suspended to^ take the 
next step was now withdrawn. Donnegan, remem¬ 
bered at last, whipped off his cap, and at once the 
light flared and burned upon his hair. It was a 
wonderful red; it shone, and it had a terrible blood 
tinge so that his face seemed pale beneath it. There 
were three things that made up the peculiar domi¬ 
nance of Donnegan’s countenance. The three things 
were the hair, the uneasy, bright eyes, and the 
rather thin, compressed lips. When Donnegan slept 
he seemed about to waken from a vigorous dream; 
when he sat down he seemed about to leap to his 
feet; and when he was standing he gave that im¬ 
pression of a poise which is ready for anything. 
It was no wonder that the girl, seeing that face and 
that alert, aggressive body, shrank a little on the 


44 


DONNEGAN 


stairs. Donnegan, that instant, knew that these two 
women were really alone in the house as far as 
fighting men were concerned. 

And the fact disturbed him more than a leveled 
gun would have done. He went to the foot of the 
stairs, even past the old woman, and, raising his 
head, he spoke to the girl. 

“My name’s Donnegan. I came over from the 
railroad—walked. I don’t want to walk that other 

eight miles unless there’s a real need for it. I-” 

Why did he pause? “I’ll pay for anything I get 
here.” 

His voice was not too certain; behind his teeth 
there was knocking a desire to cry out to her the 
truth: “I am Donnegan. Donnegan the tramp. 

Donnegan the shiftless. Donnegan' the fighter. 
Donnegan the killer. Donnegan the penniless, worth¬ 
less. But for Heaven’s sake let me stay until morn¬ 
ing and let me look at you—from a distance!” 

But, after all, perhaps he did not need to say all 
these things. His clothes were rags; upon his face 
there was a stubble of unshaven red, which made the 
pallor about his eyes more pronounced. If the girl 
had been half blind she must have felt that here 
was a man of fire. He saw her gather the wrap 
a little closer about her shoulders, and that sign 
of fear made him sick at heart. 

“Mr. Donnegan,” said the girl, “I am sorry. We 
cannot take you into the house. Eight miles-” 

Did she expect to turn a sinner from the gates 
of heaven with a mere phrase? He cast out his 
hand, and she winced as though he had shaken his 
fist at her. 

“Are you afraid?” cried Donnegan. 

“I don’t control the house.” 




HE _ 


He paused, not that her repljrv 
but the mere pleasure of hearing her spV&*\ % 
for it. It was one of those low, light w 

are apt to have very little range or volume, anu 
which break and tremble absurdly under any stress 
of emotion; and often they become shrill in a higher 
register; but inside conversational limits, if such a 
term may be used, there is no fiber so delightful, 
so purely musical. Suppose the word “velvet” 
applied to a sound. That voice came soothingly and 
delightfully upon the ear of Donnegan, from which 
the roar and rattle of the empty freight train had 
not quite departed. * He smiled at her. 

“But,” he protested, “this is west of the Rockies— 
and I don’t see any other way out.” 

The girl, all this time, was studying him intently, 
a little sadly, he thought. Now she shook her 
head, but there was more warmth in her voice. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t ask you to stay without first 
consulting my father.” 

“Go ahead. Ask him.” 

She raised her hand a little; the thought seemed 
to bring her to the verge of trembling, as though 
he were asking a sacrilege. 

“Why not?” he urged. 

She did not answer, but, instead, her eyes sought 
the old woman, as if to gain her interposition; she 
burst instantly into speech. 

“Which there’s no good talking any more,” de¬ 
clared the ancient vixen. “A.re you wanting to make 
trouble for her with the colonel? Be off, young 
man. It ain’t the first time I’ve told you you’d get 
nowhere in this house!” 

There was no possible answer left to Donnegan, 
and he did as usual the surprising thing. He broke 


..EGAN 


> -uch clear and ringing tone—such 
lfe/gliter—that the old woman blinked in 
midst of her wrath as though she were seeing 
a new man, and he saw the lips of the girl parted 
in wonder. 

“My father is an invalid,” said the girl. "And 
he lives by strict rules. I could not break in on 
him at this time of the evening.” 

“If that’s all”—Donnegan actually began to mount 
the steps—“I’ll go in and talk to your father my¬ 
self.” 

She had retired one pace as he began advanc¬ 
ing, but as the import of what he said became clear 
to her she was rooted to one position by aston¬ 
ishment. 

“Colonel Macon—my father-” she began. 

Then: “Do you really wish to see him?” 

The hushed voice made Donnegan smile—it was 
such a voice as one boy uses when he asks the other 
if he really dares enter the pasture of the red bull. 
He chuckled again, and this time she smiled, and 
her eyes were widened, partly by fear of his pur¬ 
pose and partly from his nearness. They seemed 
to be suddenly closer together. As though they 
were on one side against a common enemy, and 
that enemy was her father. The old woman was 
cackling sharply from the bottom of the stairs, and 
then hobbling in pursuit and calling on Donnegan 
to come back. At length the girl raised her hand 
and silenced her with a gesture. 

Donnegan was now hardly a pace away; and he 
saw that she lived up to all the promise of that 
first glance. Yet still she seemed unreal. There is 
a quality of the unearthly about a girl’s beauty; it 
is, after all, only a gay moment between the form- 



HE LISTENS 


4 7 . 


lessness of childhood and the hardness of middle 
age. This girl was pale, Donnegan saw, and yet 
she had color. She had the luster, say, of a white 
rose, and the same bloom. Lou, the old woman had 
called her, and Macon was her father’s name. Lou 
Macon—the name fitted her, Donnegan thought. 
For that matter, if her name had been Sally Smith, 
Donnegan would probably have thought it beautiful. 
The keener a man’s mind is and the more he knows 
about men and women and the ways of the world, 
the more apt he is to be intoxicated by a touch of 
grace and thoughtfulness; and all these age-long 
seconds the perfume of girlhood had been striking 
up to Donnegan’s brain. 

She brushed her timidity away and with the same 
gesture accepted Donnegan as something more than 
a dangerous vagrant. She took the lamp from the 
hands of the crone and sent her about her business, 
disregarding the mutterings and the warnings which 
trailed behind the departing form. Now she faced 
Donnegan, screening the light from her eyes with 
a cupped hand and by the same device focusing it 
upon the face of Donnegan. He mutely noted the 
small maneuver and gave her credit; but for the 
pleasure of seeing the white of her fingers and the 
way they tapered to a pink transparency at the tips, 
he forgot the poor figure he must make with his 
soiled, ragged shirt, his unshaven face, his gaunt 
cheeks. 

Indeed, he looked so straight at her that in spite 
of her advantage with the light she had to avoid 
his glance. 

“I am sorry,’’ said Lou Macon, “and ashamed be¬ 
cause we can’t take you in. The only house on the 
range where you wouldn’t be welcome, I know. 


48 


DONNEGAN 


But my father leads a very close life; he has set 
ways. The ways of an invalid, Mr. Donnegan.” 

“And you’re bothered about speaking to him of 
me ?” 

“I’m almost afraid of letting you go in yourself.” 

“Let me take the risk.” 

She considered him again for a moment, and 
then turned with a nod and he followed her up 
the stairs into the upper hall. The moment they 
stepped into it he heard her clothes flutter and a 
small gale poured on them. It was criminal to 
allow such a building to fall into this ruinous con¬ 
dition. And a gloomy picture rose in Donnegan’s 
mind of the invalid, thin-faced, sallow-eyed, white- 
haired, lying in his bed listening to the storm and 
silently gathering bitterness out of the pain of 
living. Lou Macon paused again in the hall, close 
to a door on the right. 

“I’m going to send you in to speak to my father,” 
she said gravely. “First I have to tell you that he’s 
different.” 

Donnegan replied by looking straight at her, and 
this time she did not wince from the glance. In¬ 
deed, she seemed to be probing him, searching with 
a peculiar hope. What could she expect to find in 
him? What that was useful to her? Not once 
in all his life had such a sense of impotence de¬ 
scended upon Donnegan. Her father? Bah! In¬ 
valid or no invalid he would handle that fellow, 
and if the old man had an acrid temper, Donnegan 
at will could file his own speech to a point. But 
the girl! In the meager hand which held the lamp 
there was a power which all the muscles of Donne¬ 
gan could not compass; and in his weakness he 
looked wistfully at her. 


HE LISTENS 


49 


“I hope your talk will be pleasant. I hope so.” 
She laid her hand on the knob of the door and 
withdrew it hastily; then, summoning great resolu¬ 
tion, she opened the door and showed Donnegan in. 

“Father,” she said, “this is Mr. Donnegan. He 
wishes to speak to you.” 

The door closed behind Donnegan, and hearing 
that whishing sound which the door of a heavy 
safe will make, he looked down at this, and saw 
that it was actually inches thick! Once more the 
sense of being in a trap descended upon him. 


CHAPTER VII 


HE SEES THE DEVIL 

H E found himself in a large room which, before 
he could examine a single feature of it, was 
effectively curtained from his sight. Straight into 
his face shot a current of violent white light that 
made him blink. There was the natural recoil, but 
in Donnegan recoils were generally protected by 
several strata of will power and seldom showed in 
any physical action. On the present occasion his 
first dismay was swiftly overwhelmed by a cold 
anger at the insulting trick. This was not the trick 
of a helpless invalid; Donnegan could not see a 
single thing before him, but he obeyed a very deep 
instinct and advanced straight into the current of 
light. 

He was glad to see the light switched away. 
The comparative darkness washed across his eyes 
in a pleasant wave and he was now able to distin¬ 
guish a few things in the room. It was, as he 
had first surmised, quite large. The ceiling was 
high; the proportions comfortably spacious; but what 
astounded Donnegan was the real elegance of the 
furnishings. There was no mistaking the deep, 
silken texture of the rug upon which he stepped; the 
glow of light barely reached the wall, and there 
showed faintly in streaks along yellowish hangings. 
Beside a table which supported a big reading lamp— 
gasoline, no doubt, from the intensity of its light— 
sat Colonel Macon with a large volume spread across 


HE SEES THE DEVIL 


5i 


his knees. Donnegan saw two high lights—fine 
silver hair that covered the head of the invalid and 
a pair of white hands fallen idly upon the surface 
of the big book, for if the silver hair suggested age 
the smoothly finished hands suggested perennial 
youth. They were strong, carefully tended, com¬ 
placent hands. They suggested to Donnegan a man 
sufficient unto himself. 

“Mr. Donnegan, I am sorry that I cannot rise 
to receive you. Now, what pleasant accident has 
brought me the favor of this call?” 

Donnegan was taken aback again, and this time 
more strongly than by the flare of light against his 
eyes. For in the voice he recognized the quality of 
the girl—the same softness, the same velvety rich¬ 
ness, though the pitch was a bass. In the voice of 
this man there was the same suggestion that the 
tone would crack if it were forced either up or 
down. With this great difference, one could hardly 
conceive of a situation which would push that man’s 
voice beyond its monotone. It flowed with deadly, 
all-embracing softness. It clung about one; it fas¬ 
cinated and baffled the mind of the listener. 

But Donnegan was not in the habit of being baf¬ 
fled by voices. Neither was he a lover of formality. 
He looked about for a place to sit down, and im¬ 
mediately discovered that while the invalid sat in 
an enormous easy-chair bordered by shelves and sup¬ 
plied with wheels for raising and lowering the back 
and for propelling the chair about the room on its 
rubber tires, it was the only chair in the room which 
could make any pretentions toward comfort. As a 
matter of fact, aside from this one immense chair, 
devoted to the pleasure of the invalid, there was 


52 


DONNEGAN 


nothing in the room for his visitors to sit upon 
except two or three miserable backless stools., 

But Donnegan was not long taken aback. He 
tucked his cap under his arm, bowed profoundly in 
honor of the colonel’s compliments, and brought one 
of the stools to a place where it was no nearer the 
rather ominous circle of the lamp light than was the 
invalid himself. With his eyes accustomed to the 
new light, Donnegan could now take better stock 
of his host. He saw a rather handsome face, with 
eyes exceedingly blue, young, and active; but the 
features of Macon as well as his body were blurred 
and obscured by a great fatness. He was truly a 
prodigious man, and one could understand the stout¬ 
ness with which the invalid chair was made. His 
great wrist dimpled like the wrist of a healthy baby, 
and his face was so enlarged with superfluous flesh 
that the lower part of it quite dwarfed the upper. 
He seemed, at first glance, a man with a low fore¬ 
head and bright, careless eyes and a body made 
immobile by flesh and sickness. A man whose spir¬ 
its despised and defied pain. Yet a second glance 
showed that the forehead was, after all, a nobly 
proportioned one, and for all the bulk of that figure, 
for all the cripple-chair, Donnegan would not have 
been surprised to see the bulk spring lightly out of 
the chair to meet him. 

For his own part, sitting back on the stool with 
his cap tucked under his arm and his hands folded 
about one knee, he met the faint, cold smile of the 
colonel with a broad grin of his own. 

“I can put it in a nutshell,” said Donnegan. “I 
was tired; dead beat; needed a hand-out, and rapped 
at your door. Along comes a mystery in the shape 
of an ugly-looking old woman and opens the door 


HE SEES THE DEVIL 


53 


to me. Tries to shut me out; I decided to come in. 
She insists on keeping me outside; all at once I see 
that I have to get into the house. I am brought in; 
your daughter tries to steer me off, sees that the job 
is more than she can get away with, and shelves 
me off upon you. And that, Colonel Macon, is the 
pleasant accident which brings you the favor of this 
call.” 

It would have been a speech both stupid and pert 
in the mouth of another; but Donnegan knew how 
to flavor words with a touch of mockery of himself 
as well as another. There were two manners in 
which this speech could have been received—with 
a wink or with a smile. But it would have been 
impossible to hear it and grow frigid. As for the 
colonel, he smiled. 

It was a tricky smile, however, as Donnegan felt. 
It spread easily upon that vast face and again went 
out and left all to the dominion of the cold, bright 
eyes. 

“A case of curiosity,” commented the colonel. 

“A case of hunger,” said Donnegan. 

“My dear Mr. Donnegan, put it that way if you 
wish!” 

“And a case of blankets needed for one night.” 

“Really? Have you ventured into such a coun¬ 
try as this without any equipment?” 

“Outside of my purse, my equipment is of the 
invisible kind.” 

“Wits,” suggested the colonel. 

“Thank you.” 

“Not at all. You hinted at it yourself.” 

“However, a hint is harder to take than to make.” 

The colonel raised his faultless right hand—and 
oddly enough his great corpulence did not extend 


54 


DONNEGAN 


in the slightest degree to his hand, but stopped short 
at the wrists—and stroked his immense chin. His 
.skin was like Lou Macon’s, except that in place of 
the white-flower bloom his was a parchment, dead 
pallor. He lowered his hand with the same slow 
precision and folded it with the other, all the time 
probing Donnegan with his difficult eyes. 

“Unfortunately—most unfortunately, it is impos¬ 
sible for me to accommodate you, Mr. Donnegan.” 

The reply was not flippant, but quick. “Not at 
all. I am the easiest person in the world to accom¬ 
modate.” 

The big man smiled sadly. 

“My fortune has fallen upon evil days, sir. It 
is no longer what it was. There are in this house 
three habitable rooms; this one; my daughter’s apart¬ 
ment; the kitchen where old Haggie sleeps. Other¬ 
wise you are in a rat trap of a place.” 

He shook his head, a slow, decisive motion. 

“A spare blanket,” said Donnegan, “will be 
enough.” 

There was another sigh and another shake of the 
head. 

“Even a corner of a rug to roll up in will do 
perfectly.” 

“You see, it is impossible for me to entertain you.” 

“Bare boards will do well enough for me, Colonel 
Macon. And if I have a piece of bread, a plate of 
cold beans—anything—I can entertain myself.” 

“I am sorry to see you so compliant, Mr. Donne¬ 
gan, because that makes my refusal seem the more 
unkind. But I cannot have you sleeping on the bare 
floor. Not on such a night. Pneumonia comes on 
one like a cat in the dark in such weather. It is 
really impossible to keep you here, sir.” 


HE SEES THE DEVIL 


55 


“H’m-m,” said Donnegan. He began to feel that 
he was stumped, and it was a most unusual feeling 
for him. 

“Besides, for a young fellow like you, with your 
agility, what is eight miles? Walk down the road 
and you will come to a place where you will be 
made at home and fed like a king.” 

“Eight miles, that’s not much! But on such a 
night as this?” 

There was a faint glint in the eyes of the colonel; 
was he not sharpening his wits for his contest of 
words, and enjoying it? 

“The wind will be at your back and buoy your 
steps. It will shorten the eight miles to four.” 

Very definitely Donnegan felt that the other was 
reading him. What was it that he saw as he turned 
the pages? 

“There is one thing you fail to take into your 
accounting.” 

“Ah?” 

“I have an irresistible aversion to walking.” 

“Ah?” repeated Macon. 

“Or exercise in any form.” 

“Then you are unfortunate to be in this country 
without a horse.” 

“Unfortunate, perhaps, but the fact is that I’m 
here. Very sorry to trouble you, though, colonel.” 

“I am rarely troubled,” said the colonel coldly. 
“And since I have no means of accommodation, the 
laws of hospitality rest lightly on my shoulders.” 

“Yet I have an odd thought,” replied Donnegan. 

“Well? You have expressed a number already, 
it seems to me.” 

“It’s this: that you’ve already made up your mind 
to keep me here.” 


CHAPTER VIII 

HE READS THE DEVIl/s MIND 

T HE colonel stiffened in his chair, and under his 
bulk even those ponderous timbers quaked a 
little. Once more Donnegan gained an impression 
of chained activity ready to rise to any emergency. 
The colonel’s jaw set and the last vestige of the 
smile left his eyes. Yet it was not anger that 
showed in its place. Instead, it was rather a hungry 
searching. He looked keenly into the face and the 
soul of Donnegan as a searchlight sweeps over 
waters by night. 

“You are a mind reader, Mr. Donnegan.” 

“No more of a mind reader than a chink is.” 
“Ah, they are great readers of mind, my friend.” 
Donnegan grinned, and at this the colonel frowned. 
“A great and mysterious people, sir. I keep evi¬ 
dences of them always about me. Look!” 

He swept the shaft of the reading light up and 
it fell upon a red vase against the yellow hangings. 
Even Donnegan’s inexperienced eye read a price 
into that shimmering vase. 

“Queer color,” he said. 

“Dusty claret. Ah, they have the only names for 
their colors. Think! Peach bloom—liquid dawn— 
ripe cherry—oil green—green of powdered tea—blue 
of the sky after rain—what names for color! What 
other land possesses such a tongue that goes straight 
to the heart!” 

The colonel waved his faultless hands and then 


HE READS THE DEVIL’S MIND 


57 


dropped them back upon the book with the tender¬ 
ness of a benediction. 

“And their terms for texture—pear’s rind—lime 
peel—millet seed! Do not scoff at China, Mr. Don¬ 
negan. She is the fairy godmother, and we are the 
poor children.” 

He changed the direction of the light; Donnegan 
watched him, fascinated. 

“But what convinced you that I wished to keep 
you here?” 

“To amuse you, Colonel Macon.” 

The colonel exposed gleaming white teeth and 
laughed in that soft, smooth-flowing voice. 

“Amuse me? For fifteen years I have sat in this 
room and amused myself by taking in what I would 
and shutting out the rest of the world. I have 
made the walls thick and padded them to keep out 
all sound. You observe that there is no evidence 
here of the storm that is going on to-night. Amuse 
me? Indeed!” 

And Donnegan thought of Lou Macon in her old, 
drab dress, huddling the poor cloak around her 
shoulders to keep out the cold, while her father 
lounged here in luxury. He could gladly have 
buried his lean fingers in that fat throat. From 
the first he had had an aversion to this man. 

“Very well, I shall go. It has been a pleasant 
chat, colonel.” 

“Very pleasant. And thank you. But before you 
go, taste this whisky. It will help you when you 
enter the wind.” 

He opened a cabinet in the side of the chair and 
brought out a black bottle and a pair of glasses and 
put them on the broad arm of the chair. Donnegan 
sauntered back. 


DONNEGAN 


58 

“You see/’ he murmured, “you will not let me 

go-” 

At this the colonel raised his head suddenly and 
glared into the eyes of his guest, and yet so perfect 
was his muscular and nerve control that he did not 
interrupt the thin stream of amber which trickled 
into one of the glasses. Looking down again, he 
finished pouring the drinks. They pledged each other 
with a motion, and drank. It was very old, very 
oily. And Donnegan smiled as he put down the 
empty glass. 

“Sit down,” said the colonel in a new voice. 

Donnegan obeyed. 

“Fate,” went on the colonel, “rules our lives. We 
give our honest endeavors, but the deciding touch is 
the hand of Fate.” 

He garnished this absurd truism with a wave of 
his hand so solemn that Donnegan was chilled; as 
though the fat man were actually conversant with 
the Three Sisters. 

“Fate has brought you to me; therefore, I intend 
to keep you.” 

“Here?” 

“In my service. I am about to place a great 
mission and a great trust in your hands.” 

“In the hands of a man you know nothing about?” 

“I know you as if I had raised you.” 

Donnegan smiled, and shaking his head, the red 
hair flashed and shimmered. 

“As long as there is no work attached to the mis¬ 
sion, it may be agreeable to me.” 

“But there is work.” 

“Then the contract is broken before it is made.” 

“You are rash. But I had rather begin with a 
dissent and then work upward.” 


HE READS THE DEVIL’S MIND 


59 


Donnegan waited. 

“To balance against work-” 

“Excuse me. Nothing balances against work for 
me.” 

“To balance against work,” continued the colonel, 
raising a white hand and by that gesture crushing 
the protest of Donnegan, “there is a great reward.” 

“Colonel Macon, I have never worked for money 
before and I shall not work for it now.” 

“You trouble me with interruptions. Who men¬ 
tioned money? You shall not have a penny!” 

“No?” 

“The reward shall grow out of the work.” 

“And the work?” 

“Is fighting.” 

At this Donnegan narrowed his eyes and searched 
the fat man thoroughly. It sounded like the talk 
of a charlatan, and yet there was a crispness to 
these sentences that made him suspect something 
underneath. For that matter, in certain districts his 
name and his career were known. He had never 
dreamed that that reputation could have come within 
a thousand miles of this part of the mountain desert. 

“You should have told trie in the first place,” he 
said with some anger, “that you knew me.” 

“Mr. Donnegan, upon my honor, I never heard 
your name before my daughter uttered it.” 

Donnegan waited soberly. 

“I despise charlatanry as much as the next man* 
You shall see the steps by which I judged you. 
When you entered the room I threw a strong light 
upon you. You did not blanch; you immediately 
walked straight into the shaft of light although you 
could not see a foot before you.” 

“And that proved?” 



6o 


DONNEGAN 


“A combative instinct, and coolness; not the sort 
of brute vindictiveness that fights for a rage, for 
a cool-minded love of conflict. Is that clear ?” 

Donnegan shrugged his shoulders. 

“And above all, I need a fighter. Then I watched 
your eyes and your hands. The first were direct and 
yet they were alert. And your hands were perfectly 
steady.” 

“Qualifications for a fighter, eh?” 

“Do you wish further proof?” 

“Well?” 

“What of the fight to the death which you went 
through this same night?” 

Donnegan started. It was a small movement, that 
flinching, and he covered it by continuing the upward 
gesture of his hand to his coat; he drew out tobacco 
and cigarette papers and commenced to roll his 
smoke. Looking up, he saw that the eyes of Colonel 
Macon were smiling, although his face was grave. 

A glint of understanding passed between the two 
men, but not a spoken word. 

“I assure you, there was no death to-night,” said 
Donnegan at length. 

“Tush! Of course not! Of course not! But 
the tear on the shoulder of your coat—ah, that is 
too smooth edged for a tear, too long for the bite 
of a scissors. Am I right? Tush! Not a word!” 

The colonel beamed with an almost tender pride, 
and Donnegan, knowing that the fat man looked 
upon him as a murderer newly come from a death, 
considered the beaming face and thought many 
things in silence. 

“So it was easy to see that in coolness, courage, 
fighting instinct, skill, you were probably what I 
want. Yet something more than all these qualifica- 


HE READS THE DEVIL’S MIND 61 

tions is necessary for the task which lies ahead of 
you.” 

“You pile up the bad features, eh?” 

“To entice you, Donnegan. For one man, paint 
a rosy beginning, and once under way he will man¬ 
age the hard parts. For you, show you the hard 
shell and you will trust that it contains the choice 
flesh. I was saying, that I waited to see other 
qualities in you; qualities of the judgment. And 
suddenly you flashed upon me a single glance; I 
felt it clash against my will power. I felt your 
look go past my guard like a rapier slipping around 
my blade. I, Colonel Macon, was for the first time 
outfaced, outmaneuvered. I admit it, for I rejoice 
in meeting such a man. And the next instant you 
told me that I should keep you here out of my own 
wish! Admirable!” 

The admiration of the colonel, indeed, almost 
overwhelmed Donnegan, but he saw that in spite of 
the genial smile, the face suffused with warmth, the 
colonel was watching him every instant, flinty-eyed. 
Donnegan did as he had done on the stairs, he burst 
into laughter. 

When he had done, the colonel was leaning for¬ 
ward in his chair with his fingers interlaced, exam¬ 
ining his guest from beneath somber brows. As he 
sat lurched forward he gave a terrible impression 
of that reserved energy which Donnegan had sensed 
before. 

“Donnegan,” said the colonel, “I shall talk ho 
more nonsense to you. You are a terrible fellow!” 

And Donnegan knew that, for the first time in the 
colonel’s life, he was meeting another man upon 
equal ground. 


CHATER IX 


HE SELLS HIS SOUL 

I N a way, it was an awful tribute, for one great 
fact grew upon him: that the colonel represented 
almost perfectly the power of absolute evil. Don- 
negan was not a squeamish sort, but the fat, smiling 
face of Macon filled him with unutterable aversion. 
A dozen times he would have left the room, but a 
silken thread held him back, the thought of Lou. 

“I shall be terse and entirely frank/’ said the 
colonel, and at once Donnegan reared triple guard 
and balanced himself for attack or defense. 

“Between you and me,” went on the fat man, 
“deceptive words are folly. A waste of energy.” 
He flushed a little. “You are, I believe, the first 
man who has ever laughed at me.” The click of 
his teeth as he snapped them on this sentence seemed 
to promise that he should also be the last. 

“So I tear away the veils which made me ridicu¬ 
lous, I grant you. Donnegan, we have met each 
other just in time.” 

“True,” said Donnegan, “you have a task for me 
that promises a lot of fighting; and in return I get 
lodgings for the night.” 

“Wrong, wrong! I offer you much more. I 
offer you a career of action in which you may forget 
the great sorrow which has fallen upon you; and 
in the battles which lie before you, you will find 
oblivion for the sad past which lies behind you.” 
Here Donnegan sprang to his feet with his hand 


HE SELLS HIS SOUL 


63 


caught at his breast; and he stood quivering, in an 
agony. Pain worked in him as anger would do; and, 
his slender frame swelling, his muscles taut, he stood 
like a panther enduring the torture because it knows 
it is folly to attempt to escape. 

“You are a human devil!” Donnegan said at 
last, and sank back upon his stool. For the moment 
he was overcome, his head falling upon his breast, 
and even when he looked up his face was terribly 
pale, and his eyes dull. His expression, however, 
cleared swiftly, and aside from the perspiration 
which shone on his forehead it would ha^e been 
impossible ten seconds later to discover that the 
blow of the colonel had fallen upon him. 

All of this the colonel had observed and noted 
with grim satisfaction. Not once did he speak until 
he saw that all was well. 

“I am sorry,” he said at length in a voice almost 
as delicate as the voice of Lou Macon. “I am sorry, 
but you forced me to say more than I wished to 
say.” 

Donnegan brushed the apology aside. 

His voice became low and hurried. “Let us get 
on in the matter. I am eager to learn from you, 
colonel.” 

“Very well. Since it seems that there is a place 
for both our interests in this matter, I shall run on 
in my tale and make it, as I promised you before, 
absolutely frank and curt. I shall not descend into 
small details. I shall give you a main sketch of 
the high points; for all men of mind are apt to be 
confused by the face of a thing, whereas the heart 
of it is perfectly clear to them.” 

He settled into his narrative. 

“You have heard of The Corner? No? Well, 


DONNEGAN 


64 

that is not strange; but a few weeks ago gold was 
found in the sands where the valleys of Young 
Muddy and Christobel Rivers join. The Corner is 
a long, wide triangle of sand, and the sand is filled 
with a gold deposit brought down from the head¬ 
waters of both rivers and precipitated here, where 
one current meets the other and reduces the resultant 
stream to sluggishness. The sands are rich—very 
rich!” 

He had become a trifle flushed as he talked, and 
now, perhaps to cover his emotion, he carefully 
selected a cigarette from the humidor beside him 
and lighted it without haste before .he spoke an¬ 
other word. 

“Long ago I prospected over that valley; a few 
weeks ago it was brought to my attention again. 
I determined to stake some claims and work them. 
But I could not go myself. I had to send a trust¬ 
worthy man. Whom should I select? There was 
only one possible. Jack Landis is my ward. A 
dozen years ago his parents died and they sent him 
to my care, for my fortune was then comfortable. 
I raised him with as much tenderness as I could have 
shown my own son; I lavished on him the affec¬ 
tion and-” 

Here Donnegan coughed lightly; the fat man 
paused, and observing that this hypocrisy did not 
draw the veil over the bright eyes of his guest, he 
continued: “In a word, I made him one of my 
family. And when the need for a man came I 
turned to him. He is young, strong, active, able to 
take care of himself.” 

At this Donnegan pricked his ears. 

“He went, accordingly, to The Corner and staked 
the claims and filed them as I directed. I was 


HE SELLS HIS SOUL 65 

right. There was gold. Much gold. It panned out 
in nuggets.” 

He made an indescribable gesture, and through 
his strong fingers Donnegan had a vision of yellow 
gold pouring. 

“But there is seldom a discovery of importance 
claimed by one man alone. This was no exception. 
A villain named William Lester, known as a scoun¬ 
drel over the length and breadth of the cattle coun¬ 
try, claimed that he had made the discovery first. 
He even went so far as to claim that I had obtained 
my information from him and he tried to jump 
the claims staked by Jack Landis, whereupon Jack, 
very properly, shot Lester down. Not dead, unfor¬ 
tunately, but slightly wounded. 

“In the meantime the rush for The Corner started. 
In a week there was a village; in a fortnight there 
was a town; in a month The Corner had become the 
talk of the ranges. Jack Landis found in the claims 
a mint. He sent me back a mere souvenir.” 

The fat man produced from his vest pocket a 
little chunk of yellow and with a dexterous motion 
whipped it at Donnegan. It was done so suddenly, 
so unexpectedly that the wanderer was well-nigh 
taken by surprise. But his hand flashed up and 
caught the metal before it struck his face. He found 
in the palm of his hand a nugget weighing perhaps 
five ounces, and he flicked it back to the colonel. 

“He sent me the souvenir, but that was all. Since 
that time I have waited. Nothing has come. I 
sent for word, and I learned that Jack Landis had 
betrayed his trust, fallen in love with some undesir¬ 
able woman of the mining camp, denied my claim 
to any of the gold to which I had sent him. Un- 


66 


DONNEGAN 


pleasant news? Yes. Ungrateful boy? Yes. But 
my mind is hardened against adversity. 

“Yet this blow struck me close to the heart. 
Because Landis is engaged to marry my daughter, 
Lou. At first I could hardly believe in his disaffec¬ 
tion. But the truth has at length been borne home 
to me. The scoundrel has abandoned both Lou 
and mer 

Donnegan repeated slowly: “Your daughter loves 
this chap?” 

The colonel allowed his glance to narrow, and he 
could do this the more safely because at this mo¬ 
ment Donnegan’s eyes were wandering into the 
distance. In that unguarded second Donnegan was 
defenseless and the colonel read something that set 
him beaming. 

“She loves him, of course,” he said, “and he is 
breaking her heart with his selfishness.” 

“He is breaking her heart?” echoed Donnegan. 

The colonel raised his hand and stroked his enor¬ 
mous chin. Decidedly he believed that things were 
getting on very well. 

“This is the position,” he declared. “Jack Landis 
was threatened by the wretch Lester, and shot him 
down. But Lester was not single-handed. He be¬ 
longs to a wild crew, led by a mysterious fellow 
of whom no one knows very much; a deadly fighter, 
it is said, and a keen organizer and handler of 
men. Red-haired, wild, smooth. A bundle of con¬ 
tradictions. They call him ‘Lord Nick’ because he 
has the pride of a nobleman and the cunning of the 
devil. He has gathered a few chosen spirits and 
cool fighters—The Pedlar/ Joe Rix, Harry Masters 
*—all celebrated names in the cattle country. 

“They worship Lord Nick partly because he is a 


HE SELLS HIS SOUL 


67 


genius of crime and partly because he understands 
how to guide them so that they may rob and even 
kill with impunity. His peculiarity is his ability to 
keep within the bounds of the law. If he commits 
a robbery he always first establishes marvelous alibis 
and throws the blame toward some one else; if it 
is the case of a killing, it is always the other man 
who is the aggressor. He has been before a jury 
half a dozen times, but the devil knows law and 
pleads his own case with a tongue that twists the 
hearts out of the stupid jurors. You see? No 
common man. And this is the leader of the group 
of which Lester is one of the most debased mem¬ 
bers. He had no sooner been shot than Lord Nick 
himself appeared. He had his followers with him. 
He saw Jack Landis, threatened him with death, 
and made Jack swear that he would hand over half 
of the profits of the mines to the gang—of which, 
I suppose, Lester gets his due proportion. At the 
same time, Lord Nick attempted to persuade Jack 
that I, his adopted father, you might say, was really 
in the wrong, and that I had stolen the claims from 
this wretched Lester!” 

He waved this disgusting accusation into a mist 
and laughed with hateful softness. 

“The result is this: Jack Landis draws a vast 
revenue from the mines. Half of it he turns over 
to Lord Nick, and Lord Nick in return gives him 
absolute freedom and backing in the camp, where 
he is, and probably will continue the dominant 
factor. As for the other half, Landis spends it on 
this woman with whom he has become infatuated. 
And not a penny comes through to me!” 

Colonel Macon leaned back in his chair and his 


68 


DONNEGAN 


eyes became fixed upon a great distance. He smiled, 
and the blood turned cold in the veins of Donnegan. 

'‘Of course this adventuress, this Nelly Lebrun, 
plays hand in glove with Lord Nick and his troupe; 
unquestionably she shares her spoils, so that nine 
tenths of the revenue from the mines is really flow¬ 
ing back through the hands of Lord Nick and Jack 
Landis has become a silly figurehead. He struts 
about the streets of The Corner as a great mine 
owner, and with the power of Lord Nick behind 
him, not one of the people of the gambling houses 
and dance halls dares cross him. So that Jack has 
come to consider himself a great man. Is it clear ?” 

Donnegan had not yet drawn his gaze entirely 
back from the distance. 

"This is the possible solution/’ went on the colonel. 
"Jack Landis must be drawn away from the in¬ 
fluence of this Nelly Lebrun. He must be brought 
back to us and shown his folly both as regards the 
adventuress and Lord Nick; for so long as Nelly 
has a hold on him, just so long Lord Nick will 
have his hand in Jack’s pocket. You see how beau¬ 
tifully their plans and their work dovetails? How, 
therefore, am I to draw him from Nelly? There 
is only one way: send my daughter to the camp— 
send Lou to The Corner and let one glimpse of 
her beauty turn the shabby prettiness of this woman 
to a shadow! Lou is my last hope!” 

At this Donnegan wakened. His sneer was not 
a pleasant thing to see. 

"Send her to a new mining camp. Colonel Macon, 
you have the gambling spirit; you are willing to take 
great chances!” 

"So! So!” murmured the colonel, a little taken 


HE SELLS HIS SOUL 69 

aback. “But I should never send her except with 
an adequate protector.” 

“An adequate protector even against these cele¬ 
brated gunmen who run the camp as you have al¬ 
ready admitted?” 

“An adequate protector—you are the man!” 

Donnegan shivered. 

“I? I take your daughter to the camp and play 
her against Nelly Lebrun to win back Jack Landis? 
Is that the scheme?” 

“It is.” 

“Ah,” murmured Donnegan. And he got up and 
began to walk the room, white-faced; the colonel 
watched him in a silent agony of anxiety. 

“She truly loves this Landis?” asked Donnegan, 
swallowing. 

“A love that has grown out of their long intimacy 
together since they were children.” 

“Bah! Calf love! Let the fellow go and she 
will forget him. Hearts are not broken in these 
days by disappointments in love affairs.” 

The colonel writhed in his chair. 

“But Lou—you do not know her heart!” he sug¬ 
gested. “If you looked closely at her you would 
have seen that she is pale. She does not suspect the 
truth, but I think she is wasting away because Jack 
hasn’t written for weeks.” 

He saw Donnegan wince under the whip. 

“It is true,” murmured the wanderer. “She is 
not like others, Heaven knows!” He turned. “And 
what if I fail to bring over Jack Landis with the 
sight of Lou?” 

The colonel relaxed; the great crisis was past 
and Donnegan would undertake the journey. 

“In that case, my dear lad, there is an expedient 


70 


DONNEGAN 


so simple that you astonish me by not perceiving it. 
If there is no way to wean Landis away from the 
woman, then get him alone and shoot him through 
the heart. In that way you remove from the life 
of Lou a man unworthy of her and you also make 
the mines come to the heir of Jack Landis—namely, 
myself. And in the latter case, Mr. Donnegan, be 
sure—oh, be sure that I should not forget who 
brought the mines into my hands!” 



CHAPTER X 


HE TAKES THE NEW TRAIL 

P FTY miles over any sort of going is a stiff 
march. Fifty miles uphill and down and mostly 
over districts where there was only a rough cow 
path in lieu of a road made a prodigious day’s 
work; and certainly it was an almost incredible feat 
for one who professed to hate work with a consum¬ 
ing passion and who had looked upon an eight-mile 
jaunt the night before as an insuperable burden. 
Yet such was the distance which Donnegan had 
covered, and now he drove the pack mule out on 
the shoulder of the hill in full view of The Corner 
with the triangle of the Young Muddy and Chris- 
tobel Rivers embracing the little town. Even the 
gaunt, leggy mule was tired to the dropping point, 
and the tough buckskin which trailed up behind went 
with downward head. When Louise Macon turned 
to him, he had reached the point where he swung 
his head around first and then grudgingly followed 
the movement with his body. The girl was tired, 
also, in spite of the fact that she had covered every 
inch of the distance in the saddle. There was that 
violet shade of weariness under her eyes and her 
shoulders slumped forward. Only Donnegan, the 
hater of labor, was fresh. 

They had started in the first dusk of the coming 
day; it was now the yellow time of the slant after¬ 
noon sunlight; between these two points there had 
been a body of steady plodding. The girl had 


DONNEGAN 


72 

looked askance at that gaunt form of Donnegan’s 
when they began; but before three hours, seeing that 
the spring never left his step nor the swinging 
rhythm his stride, she began to wonder. This after¬ 
noon, nothing he did could have surprised her. 
From the moment he entered the house the night 
before he had been a mystery. Till her death day 
she would not forget the fire with which he had 
stared up at her from the foot of the stairs. But 
when he came out of her father’s room—not cowed 
and whipped as most men left it—he had looked at 
her with a veiled glance, and since that moment 
there had always been a mist of indifference over 
his eyes when he looked at her. 

In the beginning of that day’s march all she knew 
was that her father trusted her to this stranger, 
Donnegan, to take her to The Corner, where he was 
to find Jack Landis and bring Jack back to his old 
allegiance and find what he was doing with his 
time and his money. It was a quite natural pro¬ 
ceeding, for Jack was a wild sort, and he was prob¬ 
ably gambling away all the gold that was dug in 
his mines. It was perfectly natural throughout, ex¬ 
cept that she should have been trusted so entirely to 
a stranger. That was a remarkable thing, but, then, 
her father was a remarkable man, and it was not the 
first time that his actions had been inscrutable, 
whether concerning her or the affairs of other people. 
She had heard men come into their house cursing 
Colonel Macon with death in their faces; she had 
seen them sneak out after a soft-voiced interview 
and never appear again. In her eyes, her father was 
invincible, all-powerful. When she thought of super¬ 
latives, she thought of him. Her conception of 
mystery was the smile of the colonel, and her con- 


HE TAKES THE NEW TRAIL 


73 


ception of tenderness was bounded by the gentle 
voice of the same man. Therefore, it was entirely 
sufficient to her that the colonel had said: “Go, and 
trust everything to Donnegan. He has the power 
to command you and you must obey—until Jack 
comes back to you.” 

That was odd, for, as far as she knew, Jack had 
never left her. But she had early discarded any 
will to question her father. Curiosity was a thing 
which the fat man hated above all else. 

Therefore, it was really not strange to her that 
throughout the journey her guide did not speak 
half a dozen words to her. Once or twice when she 
attempted to open the conversation he had replied 
with crushing monosyllables, and there was an end. 
For the rest, he was always swinging down the trail 
ahead of her at a steady, unchanging, rapid stride. 
Uphill and down it never varied. And so they 
came out upon the shoulder of the hill and saw the 
storm center of The Corner. They were in the 
hills behind the town; two miles would bring them 
into it. And now Donnegan came back to her from 
the mule. He took off his hat and shook the dust 
away; he brushed a hand across his face. He was 
still unshaven. The red stubble made him hideous, 
and the dust and perspiration covered his face as 
with a mask. Only his eyes were rimmed with 
white skin. 

“You’d better get off the horse, here,” said Don¬ 
negan. 

He held her stirrup, and she obeyed without a 
word. 

“Sit down.” 

She sat down on the flat-topped boulder which 
he designated, and, looking up, observed the first 


74 


DONNEGAN 


sign of emotion in his face. He was frowning, and 
hia, face was drawn a little. 

“You are tired,” he stated. 

“A little.” 

“You are tired,” said the wanderer in a tone that 
implied dislike of any denial. Therefore she made 
no answer. “I’m going down into the town to look 
things over. I don’t want to parade you through 
the streets until I know where Landis is to be found 
and how he’ll receive you. The Corner is a wild 
town; you understand?” 

“Yes,” she said blankly, and noted nervously that 
the reply did not please him. He actually scowled 
at her. 

“You’ll be all right here. I’ll leave the pack mule 
with you; if anything should happen—but nothing 
is going to happen. I’ll be back in an hour or so. 
There’s a pool of water. You can get a cold drink 
there and wash up if you want to while I’m gone. 
But don’t go to sleep!” 

“Why not?” 

“A place like this is sure to have a lot of strag¬ 
glers hunting around it. Bad characters. You 
understand ?” 

She could not understand why he should make 
a mystery of it; but then, he was almost as strange 
as her father. His careful English and his ragged 
clothes were typical of him inside and out. 

“You have a gun there in your holster. Can 
you use it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Try it.” 

It was a thirty-two, a light, woman's weapon. 
She took it out and balanced it in her hand. 


HE TAKES THE NEW TRAIL “ 75 

“The blue rock down the hillside. Let me see 
you chip it.” 

Her hand went up, and without pausing to sight 
along the barrel, she fired; fire flew from the rock, 
and there appeared a white, small scar. Donnegan 
sighed with relief. 

“If you squeezed the butt rather than pulled the 
trigger,” he commented, “you would have made a 
bull’s-eye that time. Now, I don’t mean that in any 
likelihood you’ll have to defend yourself. I simply 
want you to be aware that there’s plenty of trouble 
around The Corner.” 

“Yes,” said the girl. 

“You’re not afraid?” 

“Oh, no.” 

Donnegan settled his hat a little more firmly upon 
his head. He had been on the verge of attributing 
her gentleness to a blank, stupid mind; he began to 
realize that there was metal under the surface. He 
felt that some of the qualities of the father were 
echoed faintly, and at a distance, in the child. In 
a way, she made him think of an unawakened crea¬ 
ture. When she was roused, if the time ever came, 
it might be that her eye could become a thing 
alternately of fire and ice, and her voice might carry 
with a ring. 

“This business has to be gotten through quickly,” 
he went on. “One meeting with Jack Landis will 
be enough.” 

She wondered why he set his jaw when he said 
this, but he was wondering how deeply the colonel’s 
ward had fallen into the clutches of Nelly Lebrun. 
If that first meeting did not bring Landis to his 
senses, what followed? One of two things. Either 
the girl must stay on in The Corner and try her 


76 


DONNEGAN 


hand with her fiance again, or else the final brutal 
suggestion of the colonel must be followed; he must 
kill Landis. It was a cold-blooded suggestion, but 
Donnegan was a cold-blooded man. As he looked 
at the girl, where she sat on the boulder, he knew 
definitely, first and last, that he loved her, and that 
he would never again love any other woman. Every 
instinct drew him toward the necessity of destroying 
Landis. There was his stumblingblock. But what 
if she truly loved Landis? 

He would have to wait in order to find that out. 
And as he stood there with the sun shining on the 
red stubble on his face he made a resolution the 
more profound because it was formed in silence: 
if she truly loved Landis he would serve her hand 
and foot until she had her will. 

But all he said was simply: “I shall be back 
before it’s dark.” 

“I shall be comfortable here,” replied the girl, 
and smiled farewell at him. 

And while Donnegan went down the slope full of 
darkness he thought of that smile. 

The Corner spread more clearly before him with 
every step he made. It was a type of the gold-rush 
town. Of course most of the dwellings were tents 
—dog tents many of them; but there was a sur¬ 
prising sprinkling of wooden shacks, some of them 
of considerable size. Beginning at the very edge 
of the town and spread over the sand flats were 
the mines and the black sprinkling of laborers. And 
the town itself was roughly jumbled around one 
street. Over to the left the main road into The 
Corner crossed the wide, shallow ford of the Young 
Muddy River and up this road he saw half a dozen 
wagons coming, wagons of all sizes; but nothing 


HE TAKES THE NEW TRAIL 77 

went out of The Corner. People who came stayed 
there, it seemed. 

He dropped over the lower hills, and the voice 
of the gold town rose to him. It was a murmur 
like that of an army preparing for the battle. Now 
and then a blast exploded, for what purpose he could 
not imagine in this school of mining. But as a rule 
the sounds were subdued by the distance. He caught 
the muttering of many voices, in which laughter and 
shouts were brought to the level of a whisper at 
close hand; and through all this there was a per¬ 
sistent clangor of metallic sounds. No doubt from 
the blacksmith shops where picks and other imple¬ 
ments were made or sharpened and all sorts of re¬ 
pairing carried on. But the predominant tone of 
the voice of The Corner was this persistent ringing 
of metal. It suggested to Donnegan that here was 
a town filled with men of iron and all the gentler 
parts of their natures forgotten. An odd place to 
bring such a woman as Lou Macon, surely! 

He reached the level, and entered the town. 


CHAPTER XI 


HE EATS HUMBLE PIE 

H UNTING for news, he went naturally to the 
news emporium which took the place of the 
daily paper—namely, he went to the saloons. But 
on the way he ran through a liberal cross-section 
of The Corner’s populace. First of all, the tents 
and the ruder shacks. He saw little sheet-iron 
stoves with the tin dishes piled, unwashed, upon the 
tops of them when the miners rushed back to their 
work; broken handles of picks and shovels; worn- 
out shirts and overalls lay where they had been 
tossed; here was a flat strip of canvas supported by 
four four-foot poles and without shelter at the sides, 
and the belongings of one careless miner tumbled 
beneath this miserable shelter; another man had 
striven for some semblance of a home and he had 
framed a five-foot walk leading up to the closed 
flap of his tent with stones of a regular size. But 
nowhere was there a sign of life, and would not be 
until semidarkness brought the unwilling ^c^kers 
back to the tents. 

Out of this district he passed quickly onto the 
main street, and here there was a different atmos¬ 
phere. The first thing he saw was a man dressed 
as a cowpuncher from belt to spurs—spurs on a 
miner—but above the waist he blossomed in a frock 
coat and a silk hat. Around the coat he had fas¬ 
tened his belt, and the shirt beneath the coat was 
common flannel, open at the throat. He walked, or 
rather staggered, on the arm of an equally strange 


HE EATS HUMBLE PIE 


79 


companion who was arrayed in a white silk shirt, 
white flannel trousers, white dancing pumps, and 
a vast sombrero! But as if this was not sufficient 
protection for his head, he carried a parasol of the 
most brilliant green silk and twirled it above his 
head. The two held a wavering course and went 
blindly past Donnegan. 

It was sufficiently clear that the storekeeper had 
followed the gold. 

He noted a cowboy sitting in his saddle while 
he rolled a cigarette. Obviously he had come in to 
look things over rather than to share in the 
mining, and he made the one sane, critical note in 
the carnival of noise and color. Donnegan began 
to pass stores. There was the jeweler’s; the gent’s 
furnishing; a real estate office—what could real 
estate be doing on the Young Muddy’s desert? 
Here was the pawnshop, the windows of which were 
already packed. The blacksmith had a great estab¬ 
lishment, and the roar of the anvils never died away; 
feed and grain and a dozen lunch-counter restau¬ 
rants. All this had come to The Corner within six 
weeks. 

Liquet seemed to be plentiful, too. In the entire 
length of the street he hardly saw a sober man, 

except the cowboy. Half a dozen in one group 

pitched silver dollars at a mark. But he was in 
the saloon district now, and dominant among the 
rest was the big, unpainted front of a building before 
which hung an enormous sign: 

LEBRUN’S JOY EMPORIUM 

Donnegan turned in under the sign. 

It was one big room. The bar stretched com¬ 
pletely around two sides of it. The floor was dirt, 


8g 


DONNEGAN 


but packed to the hardness of wood. The low roof 
was supported by a scattering of wooden pillars, 
and across the floor the gaming tables were spread. 
At that vast bar not ten men were drinking now; 
at the crowding tables there were not half a dozen 
players; yet behind the bar stood a dozen tenders 
ready to meet the evening rush from the mines. 
And at the tables waited an equal number of the 
professional gamblers of the house. 

From the door Donnegan observed these things 
with one sweeping glance, and then proceeded to 
transform himself. One jerk at the visor of his 
cap brought it down over his eyes and covered his 
face with shadow; a single shrug bunched the 
ragged coat high around his shoulders, and the 
shoulders themselves he allowed to drop forward. 
With his hands in his pockets he glided slowly 
across the room toward the bar, for all the world 
a picture of the gutter snipe who had been kicked 
from pillar to post until self-respect is dead in him. 
And pausing in his advance, he leaned against one 
of the pillars and looked hungrily toward the bar. 

He was immediately hailed from behind the bar 
with: “Hey, you. No tramps in here. Pay and 
stay in Lebrun’s!” 

The command brought an immediate protest. A 
big fellow stepped from the bar, his sombrero 
pushed to the back of his head, his shirt sleeves 
rolled to the elbow away from vast, hairy forearms. 
One of his long arms swept out and brought Don- 
negan to the bar. 

“I ain’t no prophet,” declared the giant, “but I 
can spot a man that’s dry. What’ll you have, bud?” 
And to the bartender he added: “Leave him be. 


HE EATS HUMBLE PIE 


81 


pardner, unless you’re all set for considerable noise 
in here.” 

“Long as his drinks are paid for,” muttered the 
bartender, “here he stays. But these floaters do 
make me tired!” 

He jabbed the bottle acoss the bar at Donnegan 
and spun a glass noisily at him, and the “floater” 
observed the angry bartender with a frightened side 
glance, and then poured his drink gingerly. When 
the glass was half full he hesitated and sought the 
face of the bartender again, for permission to go on. 

“Fill her up!” commanded the giant. “Fill her 
up, lad, and drink hearty.” 

“I never yet,” observed the bartender darkly, 
“seen a beggar that wasn’t a hog.” 

At this Donnegan’s protector shifted his belt so 
that the holster came a little more forward on his 
thigh. 

“Son,” he said, “how long you been in these 
parts ?” 

“Long enough,” declared the other, and lowered 
his black brows. “Long enough to be sick of it.” 

“Maybe, maybe,” returned the cowpuncher-miner, 
“meantime you tie to this. We got queer ways out 
here. When a gent drinks with us he’s our friend. 
This lad here is my pardner, just now. If I was 
him I would of knocked your head off before now 
for what you’ve said-” 

“I don’t want no trouble,” Donnegan said whin- 
ingly. 

At this the bartender chuckled, and the miner 
showed his teeth in his disgust. 

“Every gent has got his own way,” he said 
sourly. “But while you drink with Hal Stern you 
drink with your chin up, bud. And don’t forget it. 



82 


DONNEGAN 


And them that tries to run over you got to run 
over me.” 

Saying this, he laid his large left hand on the 
bar and leaned a little toward the bartender, but 
his right hand remained hanging loosely at his side. 
It was near the holster, as Donnegan noticed. And 
the bartender, having met the boring glance of the 
big man for a moment, turned surlily away. The 
giant looked to Donnegan and observed: “Know a 
good definition of the word skunk ?” 

“Nope/’ said Donnegan, brightening now that the 
stern eye of the bartender was turned away. 

“Here’s one that might do. A skunk is a critter 
that bites when your back is turned and runs when 
you look it in the eye. Here’s how!” 

He drained his own glass, and Donnegan dex¬ 
terously followed the example. 

“And what might you be doing around these 
parts ?” asked the big man, veiling his contempt 
under a mild geniality. 

<f Me ? Oh, nothing.” 

“Looking fof a job, eh?” 

Donnegan shrugged. 

“Work ain’t my line,” he confided. 

“H’m-m,” said Hal Stern. “Well, you don’t make 
no bones about it.” 

“But just now,” continued Donnegan, “I thought 
maybe I’d pick up some sort of a job for a while.” 
He looked ruefully at the palms of his hands which 
were as tender as the hands of a woman. “Heard 
a fellow say that Jack Landis was a good sort to 
work for—didn’t rush his men none. They said I 
might find him here.” 

The big man grunted. 

“Too early for him. He don’t circulate around 


HE EATS HUMBLE PIE 


83 


much till the sun goes down. Kind of hard on his 
skin, the sun, maybe. So you’re going to work 
for him?” 

“I was figuring on it.” 

“Well, tie to this, bud. If you work for him you 
won’t have him over you.” 

“No?” 

“No, you’ll have”—he glanced a little uneasily 
around him—“Lord Nick.” 

“Who’s he?” 

“Who’s he?” The big man started in astonish¬ 
ment. “Sufferin’ catamounts! Who is he?” He 
laughed in a disagreeable manner. “Well, son, 
you’ll find out, right enough!” 

“The way you talk, he don’t sound none too 
good.” 

Hal Stern grew anxious. “The way I talk? Have 
I said anything agin’ him? Not a word! He’s— 
he’s—well, there ain’t ever been trouble between us 
and there never ain’t going to be.” He flushed 
and looked steadily at Donnegan. “Maybe he sent 
you to talk to me?” he asked coldly. 

But Donnegan’s eyes took on a childish wideness. 

“Why, I never seen him,” he declared. Hal Stern 
allowed the muscles of his face to relax. “All right,” 
he said, “they’s no harm done. But Lord Nick is 
a name that ain’t handled none too free in these 
here parts. Remember that!” 

“But how,” pondered Donnegan, “can I be work¬ 
ing for Lord Nick when I sign up to work under 
Jack Landis?” 

“I’ll tell you how. Nick and Lebrun work to¬ 
gether. Split profits. And Nelly Lebrun works 
Landis for his dust. So the stuff goes in a circle— 
Landis to Nelly to Lebrun to Nick. That clear?” 


8 4 


DONNEGAN 


“I don’t quite see it,” murmured Donnegan. 

“I didn’t think you would,” declared the other, 
and snorted his disgust. “But that’s all I’m going 
to say. Here come the boys—and dead dry!” 

For the afternoon was verging upon evening, 
and the first drift of laborers fom the mines was 
pouring into The Corner. One thing at least was 
clear to Donnegan: that every one knew how in¬ 
fatuated Landis had become with Nelly Lebrun and 
that Landis had not built up an extraordinarily good 
name for himself. 



CHAPTER XII 


HE FIGHTS TEMPTATION 

B Y the time absolute darkness had set in, Donne- 
gan, in the new role of lady’s chaperon, sat 
before a dying fire with Louise Macon beside him. 
He had easily seen from his talk with Stern that 
Landis was a public figure, whether from the rich¬ 
ness of his claims or his relations with Lord Nick 
and Lebrun, or because of all these things; but as 
a public figure it would be impossible to see him 
alone in his own tent, and unless Louise could meet 
him alone half her power over him—supposing that 
she still retained any—would be lost. Better by far 
that Landis should come to her than that she should 
come to him, so Donnegan had rented two tents by 
the day at an outrageous figure from the enterprising 
real estate company of The Corner and to this new 
home he brought the girl. 

She accepted the arrangement with surprising 
equanimity. It seemed that her father’s training 
had eliminated from her mind any questioning of 
the motives of others. She became even cheerful as 
she set about arranging the pack which Donnegan 
put in her tent. Afterward she cooked their supper 
over the fire which he built for her. Never was 
such a quick house-settling. And by the time it was 
absolutely dark they had washed the dishes and sat 
before Lou’s tent looking over the night lights of 
The Corner and hearing the voice of its Great White 
Way opening. 


86 


DONNEGAN 


She had not even asked why he did not bring 
her straight to Jack Landis. She had looked into 
Donnegan’s tent, furnished with a single blanket and 
his canvas kit, and had offered to share her pack 
with him. And now they sat side by side before 
the tent and still she asked no questions about what 
was to come. 

Her silence was to Donnegan the dropping of the 
water upon the hard rock. He was crumbling under 
it, and a wild hatred for the colonel rose in him. 
No doubt that spirit of evil had foreseen all this; 
and he knew that every moment spent with the girl 
would drive Donnegan on closer to the accomplish¬ 
ment of the colonel’s great purpose—the death of 
Jack Landis. For the colonel, as Jack’s next of 
kin, would take over all his mining interests and free 
them at a stroke from the silent partnership which 
apparently existed with Lord Nick and Lester. One 
bullet would do all this; and with Jack dead, who 
else stood close to the girl? It was only necessary 
that she should not know who sped the bullet home. 

A horrible fancy grew up in Donnegan, as he 
sat there, that between him and the girl lay a dead 
body. 

He was glad when the time came and he could 
tell her that he was going down to The Corner to 
find Jack Landis and bring him to her. She rose 
to watch him go and he heard her say “Come soon!” 

It shocked Donnegan into realization that for all 
her calm exterior she was perfectly aware of the 
danger of her position in the wild mining camp. 
She must know, also, that her reputation would be 
compromised; yet never once had she winced, and 
Donnegan was filled with wonder as he went down 
the hill toward the camp which was spread beneath 


HE FIGHTS TEMPTATION 


87 


him; for their tents were a little detached from the 
main body of the town. Behind her gentle eyes, he 
now felt, and under the softness of her voice, there 
was the same iron nerve that was in her father. 
Her hatred could be a deathless passion, and her 
love also; and the great question to be answered 
now was, did she truly love Jack Landis? 

The Corner at night was like a scene at a circus. 
There was the same rush of people, the same irreg¬ 
ular flush of lights, the same glimmer of lanterns 
through canvas, the same air of impermanence. 
Once, in one of those hushes which will fall upon 
every crowd, he heard a coyote wailing sharply and 
far away, as though the desert had sent out this 
voice to mock at The Corner and all it contained. 

He had only to ask once to discover where Landis 
was; Milligan's dance hall. Before Milligan’s place 
a bonfire burned from the beginning of dusk to the 
coming of day; and until the time when that fire 
was quenched with buckets of water, it was a sign 
to all that the merriment was under way in the 
dance hall. If Lebrun’s was the sun of the amuse¬ 
ment world in The Corner, Milligan’s was the moon. 
Everybody who had money to lose went to Lebrun’s. 
Every one who was out for gayety went to Milli¬ 
gan’s. Milligan was a plunger. He had brought 
up an orchestra which demanded fifteen dollars a 
day and he paid them that and more. He not only 
was able to do this, but he established a bar at the 
entrance from which all who entered were served 
with a free drink. The entrance, also, was not sub¬ 
ject to charge. The initial drink at the door was 
spiced to encourage thirst, so Milligan made money 
as fast, and far more easily, than if he had been 
digging it out of the ground. 


88 


DONNEGAN 


To the door of this pleasure emporium came Don- 
negan. He had transformed himself into the ragged 
hobo by the jerking down of his cap again, and 
the hunching of his shoulders. And shrinking past 
the bar with a hungry sidewise glance, as one who 
did not dare present himself for free liquor, he 
entered Milligan’s. 

That is, he had put his foot across the threshold 
when he was caught roughly by the shoulder and 
dragged to one side. He found himself looking up 
into the face of a strapping fellow who served Milli¬ 
gan as bouncer. Milligan had an eye for color. Andy 
Lewis was tolerably well known as a fighting man 
of parts, who not only wore two guns but could 
use them both at once, which is much more difficult 
than is generally understood. But far more than 
for his fighting parts Milligan hired his bouncer 
for the sake of his face. It was a countenance 
made to discourage trouble makers. A mule had 
kicked Lewis in the chin, and the great white welt 
deformed his lower lip. Scars of smallpox added 
to his decorative effect, and he had those extremely 
bushy brows which for some reason are generally 
considered to denote ferocity. Now, Donnegan 
was not above middle height at best, and in his 
present shrinking attitude he found himself looking 
up a full head into the formidable face of the 
bouncer. 

“And what are you doing in here? ,, asked the 
genial Andy. “Don’t you know this joint is for 
white folks?” 

“I ain’t colored,” murmured Donnegan. 

“You look considerable yaller to me,” declared 
Lewis. Lie straightway chuckled, and his own 


HE FIGHTS TEMPTATION 89 

keen appreciation of his wit softened his expression. 
“What you want?” 

Donnegan shivered under his rags. 

“I want to see Jack Landis,” he said. 

It had a wonderful effect upon the doorkeeper. 
Donnegan found that the very name of Landis was 
a charm of power in The Corner. 

“You want to see him?” he queried in amaze¬ 
ment. “You?” 

He looked Donnegan over again, and then grinned 
broadly, as if in anticipation. “Well, go ahead. 
There he sits—no, he’s dancing.” 

The music was in full swing; it was chiefly brass; 
but now and then, in softer moments, one could 
hear a violin squeaking uncertainly. At least it went 
along with a marked, regular rhythm, and the danc¬ 
ers swirled industriously around the floor. A very 
gay crowd; color was apparently appreciated in The 
Corner. And Donnegan, standing modestly out of 
sight behind a pillar until the dance ended, noted 
twenty phases of life in twenty faces. And Donne¬ 
gan saw the flushes of liquor, and heard the loud 
voices of happy fellows who had made their 
“strikes;” but in all that brilliant crew he had no 
trouble in picking out Jack Landis and Nelly Lebrun. 

They danced together, and where they passed, the 
others steered a little off so as to give them room 
on the dance floor, as if the men feared that they 
might cross the formidable Landis, and as if the 
women feared to be brought into too close compari¬ 
son with Nelly Lebrun. She was, indeed, a brilliant 
figure. She had eyes of the Creole duskiness, a deli¬ 
cate olive skin, with a pastel coloring. The hand 
on the shoulder of Landis was a thing of fairy 
beauty. And her eyes had that peculiar quality of 


90 


DONNEGAN 


seeming to see everything, and rest on every face 
particularly. So that, as she whirled toward Donne- 
gan, he winced, feeling that she had found him out 
among the shadows. 

She had a glorious partner to set her off. And 
Donnegan saw bitterly why Lou Macon could love 
him. Height without clumsiness, bulk and a light 
foot at once, a fine head, well poised, blond hair and 
a Grecian profile—such was Jack Landis. He wore 
a vest of fawn skin; his boots were black in the 
foot and finished with the softest red leather for 
the leg. And he had yellow buckskin trousers, laced 
in a Mexican fashion with silver at the sides; a nar¬ 
row belt, a long, red silk handkerchief flying from 
behind his neck in cowboy fashion. So much flash¬ 
ing splendor, even in that gay assembly, would have 
been childishly conspicuous on another man. But 
in big Jack Landis there was patently a great deal 
of the unaffected child. He was having a glorious 
time on this evening, and his eye roved the room 
challenging admiration in a manner that was amus¬ 
ing rather than offensive. He was so overflowingly 
proud of having the prettiest girl in The Corner 
upon his arm and so conscious of being himself 
probably the finest-looking man that he escaped con¬ 
ceit, it might almost be said, by his very excess of it. 

Upon this splendid individual, then, the obscure 
Donnegan bent his gaze. He saw the dancers pause 
and scatter as the music ended, saw them drift to 
the tables along the edges of the room, saw the 
scurry of waiters hurrying drinks up in the interval, 
saw Nelly Lebrun sip a lemonade, saw Jack Landis 
toss off something stronger. And then Donnegan 
skirted around the room and came to the table of 
Jack Landis at the very moment when the latter 


HE FIGHTS TEMPTATION 


9i 

was tossing a gold piece to the waiter and giving 
a new order. 

Prodigal sons in the distance of thought are apt 
to be both silly and disgusting, but at close hand they 
usually dazzle the eye. Even the cold brain of 
Donnegan was daunted a little as he drew near. 

He came behind the chair of the tall master of 
The Corner, and while Nelly Lebrun stopped her 
glass halfway to her lips and stared at the ragged 
stranger, Donnegan was whispering in the ear of 
Jack Landis: “Eve got to see you alone/’ 

Landis turned his head slowly and his eye dark¬ 
ened a little as he met the reddish, unshaven face 
of the stranger. Then, with a careless shrug of dis¬ 
taste, he drew out a few coins and poured them into 
Donnegan’s palm; the latter pocketed them. 

“Lou Macon,” said Donnegan. 

Jack Landis rose from his chair, and it was not 
until he stood so close to Donnegan that the latter 
realized the truly Herculean proportions of the young 
fellow. He bowed his excuses to Nelly Lebrun, not 
without grace of manner, and then huddled Donne¬ 
gan into a corner with a wave of his vast arm. 

“Now what do you want? Who are you? Who 
put that name in your mouth?” 

“She’s in The Corner,” said Donnegan, and he 
dwelt upon the face of Jack Landis with feverish 
suspense. A moment later a great weight had slipped 
from his heart. If Lou Macon loved Landis it was 
beyond peradventure that Landis was not breaking 
his heart because of the girl. For at her name he 
flushed darkly, and then, that rush of color fading, 
he was left with a white spot in the center of each 
cheek. 


CHAPTER XIII 


HE EAVESDROPS 

F IRST his glance plunged into vacancy; then it 
flicked over his shoulder at Nelly Lebrun and 
he bit his lip. Plainly, it was not the most welcome 
news that Jack Landis had ever heard. 

“Where is she?” he asked nervously of Donnegan, 
and he looked over the ragged fellow again. 

“I’ll take you to her.” 

The big man swayed back and forth from foot 
to foot, balancing in his hesitation. “Wait a mo¬ 
ment.” 

He strode to Nelly Lebrun and bent over her; 
Donnegan saw her eyes flash up—oh, heart of the 
south, what eyes of shadow and fire! Jack Landis 
trembled under the glance; yes, he was deeply in 
love with the girl. And Donnegan watched her 
face shade with suspicion, stiffen with cold anger, 
warm and soften again under the explanations of 
Jack Landis. 

Donnegan, looking from the distance, could read 
everything; it is nearness that bewitches *a man 
when he talks to a woman. When Odysseus talked 
to Circe, no doubt he stood on the farther side of 
the room! 

When Landis came again, he was perspiring from 
the trial of fire through which he had just passed. 

“Come,” he ordered, and set out at a sweeping 
stride. 

Plainly he was anxious to get this matter done 


HE EAVESDROPS 


93 


with as soon as possible. As for Donnegan, he 
saw a man whom Landis had summoned to take his 
place sit down at the table with Nelly Lebrun. She 
was laughing with the newcomer as though nothing 
troubled her at all, but over his shoulder her glance 
probed the distance and followed Jack Landis. She 
wanted to see the messenger again, the man who 
had called her companion away; but in this it was 
fox challenging fox. Donnegan took note and was 
careful to place between him and the girl every 
pillar and every group of people. As far as he 
was concerned, her first glance must do to read 
and judge and remember him by. 

Outside Landis shot several questions at him in 
swift succession; he wanted to know how the girl 
had happened to make the trip. Above all, what 
the colonel was thinking and doing and if the colonel 
himself had come. But Donnegan replied with 
monosyllables, and Landis, apparently reconciling 
himself to the fact that the messenger was a fool, 
ceased his questions. They kept close to a run all 
the way out of the camp and up the hillside to the 
two detached tents where Donnegan and the girl 
slept that night. A lantern burned in both the tents. 

“She has made things ready for me,” thought 
Donnegan, his heart opening. “She has kept house 
for me!” 

He pointed out Lou's tent to his companion and 
the big man, with a single low word of warning, 
threw open the flap of the tent and strode in. 

There was only the split part of a second be¬ 
tween the rising and the fall of the canvas, but in 
that swift interval, Donnegan saw the girl starting 
up to receive Landis. Her calm was broken at last. 


94 


DONNEGAN 


Her cheeks were flushed; and her eyes were starry 
with what? Expectancy? Love? 

It stopped Donnegan like a blow in the face and 
turned his heart to lead; and then, shamelessly, he 
glided around the tent and dropped down beside it 
to eavesdrop. After all, there was some excuse. 
If she loved the man he, Donnegan, would let him 
live; if she did not love him, he, Donnegan, would 
kill him like a worthless rat under heel. That is, 
if he could. No wonder that the wanderer listened 
with heart and soul! 

He missed the first greeting. It was only a jumble 
of exclamations, but now he heard: “But, Lou, what 
a wild idea. Across the mountains—with whom?” 

“The man who brought you here.” 

“Who’s he?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know? He looks like a shifty little 
rat to me.” 

“He’s big enough, Jack.” 

Such small praise was enough to set Donnegan’s 
heart thumping. 

“Besides, father told me to go with him, to trust 
him.” 

“Ah!” There was an abrupt chilling and lower¬ 
ing of Landis’ voice. “The colonel knows him? 
He’s one of the colonel’s men?” 

Plainly the colonel was to him as the rod to the 
child. 

“Why didn’t you come directly to me?” 

“We thought it would be better not to.” 

“H’m-m. Your guide—well, what was the 
colonel’s idea in sending you here? Heavens above, 
doesn’t he know that a mining camp is no place for 
a young girl. And you haven’t a sign of a chaperon, 


HE EAVESDROPS 


95 

Lou! What the devil can I do? What was in 
his mind?” 

“You haven’t written for a long time.” 

“Good Lord! Written! Letters! Does he think 
I have time for letters?” The lie came smoothly 
enough. “Working day and night?” 

Donnegan smoothed his whiskers and grinned into 
the night. Landis might prove better game than he 
had anticipated. 

“He worried/’ said the girl, and her voice was 
as even as ever. “He worried, and sent me to find 
out if anything is wrong.” 

A little pause. Donnegan would have given much 
to see how the big man met this sentence. 

Then: “Nonsense! What is there to worry about? 
Lou, I’m half inclined to think that the colonel 
doesn’t trust me!” 

She did not answer. Was she reading beneath 
the boisterous assurance of Landis? 

“One thing is clear to me—and to you, too, I 
hope. The first thing is to send you back in a 
hurry.” 

Still no answer. 

“Lou, do you distrust me?” 

At length she managed to speak, but it was with 
some difficulty: “There is another reason for send¬ 
ing me.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Can’t you guess, Jack?” 

“I’m not a mind reader.” 

“The cad,” said Donnegan through his teeth. 

“It’s the old reason.” 

“Money?” 

“Yes.” 


96 


DONNEGAN 


A shadow swept across the side of the tent; it 
was Landis waving his arm carelessly. 

“If that’s all, I can fix you up and send you 
back with enough to carry the colonel along. Look 
here—why, I have five hundred with me. Take it, 
Lou. There’s more behind it, but the colonel mustn’t 
think that there’s as much money in the mines as 
people say. No idea how much living costs up 
here. Heavens, no! And the prices for labor! 
And then they shirk the job from dawn to dark. 
I have to watch ’em every minute, I tell you!” 

He sighed noisily. 

“But the end of it is, dear”—how that small 
word tore into the heart of Donnegan, who crouched 
outside—“that you must go back to-morrow morn¬ 
ing. I’d send you to-night, if I could. As a matter 
of fact, I don’t trust the red-haired rat who-” 

The girl interrupted while Donnegan still had 
control of his hair-trigger temper. 

“You forget, Jack. Father sent me here, but he 
did not tell me to come back.” 

At this Jack Landis burst into an enormous laugh¬ 
ter. 

“You don’t mean, Lou, that you actually intend 
to stay on?” 

“What else can I mean?” 

“Of course it makes it awkward if the colonel 
didn’t expressly tell you just what to do. I suppose 
he left it to my discretion, and I decide definitely 
that you must go back at once.” 

“I can’t do it.” 

“Lou, don’t you hear me saying that I’ll take 
the responsibility? If your father blames you let 
him tell me-” 

He broke down in the middle of his sentence and 




HE EAVESDROPS 


97 


another of those uncomfortable little pauses ensued. 
Donnegan knew that their eyes were miserably upon 
each other; the man tongue-tied by his guilt; the 
girl wretchedly guessing at the things which lay be¬ 
hind her fiance’s words. 

“I’m sorry you don’t want me here.” 

“It isn’t that, but-” 

He apparently expected to be interrupted, but she 
waited coolly for him to finish the sentence, and, 
of course, he could not. After all, for a helpless girl 
she had a devilish effective way of muzzling Landis. 
Donnegan chuckled softly in admiration. 

All at once she broke through the scene; her voice 
did not raise or harden, but it was filled with finality, 
as though she were weary of the interview. 

“I’m tired out; it’s been a hard ride, Jack. You 
go home now and look me up again any time to¬ 
morrow.” 

“I—Lou—I feel mighty bad about having you 
up here in this infernal tent, when the camp is 
full, and-” 

“You can’t lie across the entrance to my tent 
and guard me, Jack. Besides, I don’t need you 
for that. The man who’s with me will protect me.” 

“He doesn’t look capable of protecting a cat!” 

“My father said that in any circumstances he 
would be able to take care of me.” 

This reply seemed to overwhelm Landis. 

“The colonel trusts him as far as all that?” he 
muttered. “Then I suppose you’re safe enough. 
But what about comfort, Lou?” 

“I’ve done without comfort all my life. Run 
along, Jack. And take this money with you. I 
can’t have it.” 

“But, didn’t the colonel send-” 





9 8 


DONNEGAN 


“You can express it through to him. To me 
it’s—not pleasant to take it.” 

“Why, Lou, you don’t mean-” 

“Good night, Jack. I don’t mean anything, except 
that I’m tired.” 

The shadow swept along the wall of the tent 
again. Donnegan, with a shaking pulse, saw the 
profile of the girl and the man approach as he 
strove to take her in his arms and kiss her good 
night. And then one slender bar of shadow checked 
Landis. 

“Not to-night.” 

“Lou, you aren’t angry with me?” 

“No. But you know I have queer ways. Just put 
this down as one of them. I can’t explain.” 

There was a muffled exclamation and Landis went 
from the tent and strode down the hill; he was 
instantly lost in the night. But Donnegan, turning 
to the entrance flap, called softly. He was bidden to 
come in, and when he raised the flap he saw her 
sitting with her hands clasped loosely and resting 
upon her knees. Her lips were a little parted, and 
colorless; her eyes were dull with a mist; and 
though she rallied herself a little, the wanderer could 
see that she was only half aware of him. 

The face which he saw was a milestone in his 
life. For he had loved her jealously, fiercely before; 
but seeing her now, dazed, hurt, and uncomplaining, 
tenderness came into Donnegan. It spread to his 
heart with a strange pain and made his hands 
tremble. 

All that he said was: “Is there anything you 
need?” 

“Nothing,” she replied, and he backed out and 
away. 



HE EAVESDROPS 


99 


But in that small interval he had turned out 
of the course of his gay, selfish life. If Jack 
Landis had hurt her like this—if she loved him so 
truly—then Jack Landis she should have. 

There was an odd mixture of emotions in Don- 
negan; but he felt most nearly like the poor man 
from whose hand his daughter tugs back and looks 
wistfully, hopelessly, into the bright window at all 
the toys. What pain is there greater than the pain 
that comes to the poor man in such a time? He 
huddles his coat about him, for his heart is as 
cold as a Christmas day; and if it would make his 
child happy, he would pour out his heart’s blood on 
the snow. 

Such was the grief of Donnegan as he backed 
slowly out into the night. Though Jack Landis 
were fixed as high as the moon he would tear him 
out of his place and give him to the girl. 


CHAPTER XIV 


DONNEGAN FINDS A PLAN 

T HE lantern went out in the tent; she was asleep; 

and when he knew that, Donnegan went down 
into The Corner. He had been trying to think 
out a plan of action, and finding nothing better 
than to trust a gun stupidly under Landis’ nose 
and make him mark time, Donnegan went into 
Lebrun’s place. As if he hoped the bustle there 
would supply him with ideas. 

Lebrun’s was going full blast. It was not filled 
with the shrill mirth of Milligan’s. Instead, all 
voices were subdued to a point here. The pitch was 
never raised. If a man laughed, he might show 
his teeth but he took good care that he did not 
break into the atmosphere of the room. For there 
was a deadly undercurrent of silence which would 
not tolerate more than murmurs on the part of 
others. Men sat grim-faced over the cards, the 
man who was winning, with his cold, eager eye; the 
chronic loser of the night with his iron smile; the 
professional, ever debonair, with the dull eye which 
comes from looking too often and too closely into 
the terrible face of chance. A very keen observer 
might have observed a resemblance between those 
men and Donnegan. 

Donnegan roved swiftly here and there. The 
calm eye and the smooth play of an obvious pro¬ 
fessional in a linen suit kept him for a moment at 
one table, looking on; then he went to the games, 



DONNEGAN FINDS A PLAN 


IOI 


and after changing the gold which Jack Landis 
had given as alms to silver dollars, he lost it with 
precision upon the wheel. 

He went on, from table to table, from group to 
group. In Lebrun’s his clothes were not noticed. 
It was no matter whether he played or did not play, 
whether he won or lost; they were too busy to 
notice. But he came back, at length, to the man 
who wore the linen coat and who won so easily. 
Something in his method of dealing appeared to 
interest Donnegan greatly. 

It was jack pot; the chips were piled high; and 
the man in the linen coat was dealing again. How 
deftly he mixed the cards! 

Indeed, all about him was elegant, from the turn 
of his black cravat to the cut of the coat. An 
inebriate passed, shouldered and disturbed his chair, 
and rising to put it straight again, the gambler was 
seen to be about the height and build of Donnegan. 

Donnegan studied him with the interest of an 
artist. Here was a man, harking back to Nelly 
Lebrun and her love of brilliance, who would prob¬ 
ably win her preference over Jack Landis for the 
simple reason that he was different. That is, there 
was more in his cravat to attract astonished atten¬ 
tion in The Corner than there was in all the silver 
lace of Landis. And he was a man's man, no doubt 
of that. On the inebriate he had flashed one glance 
of fire, and his lean hand had stirred uneasily to¬ 
ward the breast of his coat. Donnegan, who missed 
nothing, saw and understood. 

Interested? He was fascinated by this man be¬ 
cause he recognized the kinship which existed be¬ 
tween them. They might almost have been blood 
brothers, except for differences in the face. He 


102 


DONNEGAN 


knew, for instance, just what each glance of the 
man in the linen coat meant, and how he was 
weighing his antagonists. As for the others, they 
were cool players themselves, but here they had 
met their master. It was the difference between 
the amateur and the professional. They played 
good chancey poker, but the man in the linen coat 
did more—he stacked the cards! 

For the first moment Donnegan was not sure; it 
was not until there was a slight faltering in the 
deal—an infinitely small hesitation which only a 
practiced eye like that of Donnegan’s could have 
noticed—that he was sure. The winner was crooked. 
Yet the hand was interesting for all that. He had 
done the master trick, not only giving himself the 
winning hand but also giving each of the others 
a fine set of cards. 

And the betting was wild on that historic pot! 
To begin with the smallest hand was three of a 
kind; and after the draw the weakest was a straight. 
And they bet furiously. The stranger had piqued 
them with his consistent victories. Now they were 
out for blood. Chips having^ been exhausted, solid 
gold was piled up on the table—a small fortune! 

The man in the linen coat, in the middle of the 
hand, called for drinks. They drank. They went 
on with the betting. And then at last came the call. 

Donnegan could have clapped his hands to ap¬ 
plaud the smooth rascal. It was not an affair of 
breaking the others who sat in. They were all 
prosperous mine owners, and probably they had 
been carefully selected according to the size of 
purse, in preparation for the sacrifice. But the 
stakes were swept into the arms and then the canvas 
bag of the winner. If it was not enough to ruin 


DONNEGAN FINDS A PLAN 


103 


the miners it was at least enough to clean them 
out of ready cash and discontinue the game on 
that basis. They rose; they went to the bar for a 
drink; but while the winner led the way, two of 
the losers dropped back a trifle and fell into earnest 
conversation, frowning. Donnegan knew perfectly 
what the trouble was. They had noticed that slight 
faltering in the deal; they were putting their mental 
notes on the game together. 

But the winner, apparently unconscious of sus¬ 
picion, lined up his victims at the bar. The first 
drink went hastily down; the second was on the 
way—it was standing on the bar. And here he 
excused himself; he broke off in the very middle 
of a story, and telling them that he would be back 
any moment, stepped into a crowd of newcomers. 

The moment he disappeared, Donnegan saw the 
other four put their heads close together, and saw 
a sudden darkening of faces; but as for the genial 
winner, he had no sooner passed to the other side 
of the crowd and out of view, than he turned di¬ 
rectly toward the door. His careless saunter was 
exchanged for a brisk walk; and Donnegan, without 
making himself conspicuous, was hard pressed to 
follow that pace. 

At the door he found that the gambler, with his 
canvas sack under his arm, had turned to the right 
toward the line of saddle horses which stood in the 
shadow; and no sooner did he reach the gloom at 
the side of the building than he broke into a soft, 
swift run. He darted down the line of horses until 
he came to one which was already mounted. This 
Donnegan saw as he followed somewhat more lei¬ 
surely and closer to the horses,to avoid observance. 
He made out that the man already on horseback 


104 


DONNEGAN 


was a big negro and that he had turned his own 
mount and a neighboring horse out from the rest 
of the horses, so that they were both pointing down 
the street of The Corner. Donnegan saw the negro 
throw the lines of his lead horse into the air. In 
exchange he caught the sack which the runner tossed 
to him, and then the gambler leaped into his saddle. 

It was a simple but effective plan. Suppose he 
were caught in the midst of a cheat; his play would 
be to break away to the outside of the building, 
shooting out the lights, if possible—trusting to the 
confusion to help him—and there he would find his 
horse held ready for him at a time when a second 
might be priceless. On this occasion no doubt the 
clever rascal had sensed the suspicion of the others. 

At any rate, he lost no time. He waited neither 
to find his stirrups nor grip the reins firmly, but 
the same athletic leap which carried him into the 
saddle set the horse in motion, and from a standing 
start the animal broke into a headlong gallop. He 
received, however, an additional burden at once. 

For Donnegan, from the second time he saw the 
man of the linen coat, had been revolving a dar¬ 
ing plan, and during the poker game the plan had 
slowly matured. The moment he made sure that 
the gambler was heading for a horse, he increased 
his own speed. Ordinarily he would have been 
noted, but now, no doubt, the gambler feared no 
pursuit except one accompanied by a hue and cry. 
He did not hear the shadow-footed Donnegan rac¬ 
ing over the soft ground behind him; but when he 
had gained the saddle, Donnegan was close behind 
with the impetus of his run to aid him. It was 
comparatively simple, therefore, to spring high in the 
-air, and he struck fairly and squarely behind the 


DONNEGAN FINDS A PLAN 


105 


saddle of the man in the linen coat. When he 
landed his revolver was in his hand and the muzzle 
jabbed into the back of the gambler. 

The other made one frantic effort to twist around, 
then recognized the pressure of the revolver and 
was still. The horses, checking their gallops in 
unison, were softly dog-trotting down the street. 

“Call off your boy!” warned Donnegan, for the 
big negro had reined back; the gun already gleamed 
in his hand. 

A gesture from the master sent the gun into ob¬ 
scurity, yet still the fellow continued to fall back. 

“Tell him to ride ahead.” 

“Keep in front, George.” 

“And not too far.” 

“Very well. And now?” 

“We’ll talk later. Go straight on, George, to the 
clump of trees beyond the end of the street. And 
ride straight. No dodging!” 

“It was a good hand you played,” continued Don¬ 
negan, taking note that of the many people who 
were now passing them none paid the slightest at¬ 
tention to two men riding on one horse and chat¬ 
ting together as they rode. “It was a good hand, 
but a bad deal. Your thumb slipped on the card, 
eh?” 

“You saw, eh?” muttered the other. 

“And two of the others saw it. But they weren’t 
sure till afterward.” 

“I know. The blockheads! But I spoiled their 
game for them. Are you one of us, pal?” 

But Donnegan smiled to himself. For once at 
least the appeal of gambler to gambler should fail. 

“Keep straight on,” he said. “We’ll talk later 
on.” 


CHAPTER XV 

HE STEALS A MA N 

B EFORE Donnegan gave the signal to halt in a 
clear space where the starlight was least indis¬ 
tinct, they reached the center of the trees. 

“Now, George,” he said to the negro, “drop your 
gun to the ground.” 

There was a flash and faint thud. 

“Now the other gun.” 

“They ain't any more, sir.” 

“Your other gun,” repeated Donnegan. 

A little pause. “Do what he tells you, George,” 
said the gambler at length, and a second weapon 
fell. 

“Now keep on your horse and keep a little off 
to the side,” went on Donnegan, “and remember 
that if you try to give me the jump I might miss 
you in this light, but I'd be sure to hit your horse. 
So don’t take chances, George. Now, sir, just hold 
your hands over your head and then dismount.” 

He had already gone through the gambler and 
taken his weapons; he was now obeyed. The man 
of the linen coat tossed up his arms, flung his right 
leg over the horn of the saddle, and slipped to the 
ground. 

Donnegan joined his captive. “I warn you first,” 
he said gently, “that I am quite expert with a 
revolver, and that it will be highly dangerous to 
attempt to trick me. Lower your arms if you wish, 
but please be careful of what you do with your 


HE STEALS A MAN 


107 


hands. There are such things as knife throwing, 
I know, but it takes a fast wrist to flip a knife 
faster than a bullet. We understand each other ?’’ 

‘‘Perfectly/' agreed the other. “By the way, my 
name is Godwin. And suppose we become frank. 
You are in temporary distress. It was impossible 
for you to make a loan at the moment and you are 
driven to this forced—touch. Now, if half-’’ 

“Hush," said Donnegan. “You are too generous. 
But the present question is not one of money. I 
have long since passed over that. The money is now 
mine. Steady!" This to the negro, who lurched in 
the saddle; but the master was calm as stone. “It 
is not the question of the money that troubles me, 
but the question of the men. I could easily handle 
one of you. But I fear to allow both of you to go 
free. You would return on my trail; there are such 
things as waylayings by night, eh? And so, Mr. 
Godwin, I think my best way out is to shoot you 
through the head. When your body is found it 
will be taken for granted that the servant killed 
the master for the sake of the money which he 
won by crooked card play. I think that’s simple. 
Put your hands up, George, or, by heck, I’ll let the 
starlight shine through you!’’ 

The huge arms of George were raised above his 
head; Godwin, in the meantime, had not spoken. 

“I almost think you mean it,’’ he said after a 
short pause. 

“Good," said Donnegan, “I do not wish to kill 
you unprepared." 

There was a strangled sound deep in the throat 
of Godwin; then he was able to speak again, but 
now his voice was made into a horrible jumble 
by fear. 



io8 


DONNEGAN 


“Pal,” he said, “you’re dead wrong. The coon 
he’s a * devil. If you let him live he’ll kill you— 
as sure as you’re standing here. You don’t know 
him. He’s George Green. He’s got a record as 
long as my arm and as bad as the devil s name. 
He—he’s the man to get rid of. Me? Why, man, 
you and I could team it together. But the nigger 
-—not-” 

Donnegan began to laugh, and the gambler stam¬ 
mered to a halt. 

“I knew you when I laid eyes on you for the first 
time,” said Donnegan. “You have the hands of a 
craftsman, but your eyes are put too close together. 
A coward’s eyes—a cur’s face, Godwin. But you, 
George—have you heard what he said?” 

No answer from George but a snarl. 

“It sounds logical what he said, eh, George?” 

Dead silence. 

“But,”, said Donnegan, “there are flaws in the 
plan. Godwin, get out of your clothes.” 

The other fell on his knees. 

“For Heaven’s sake,” he pleaded. 

“Shut up,” commanded Donnegan. “I’m not 
going to shoot you. I never intended to, you fool. 
But I wanted to see if you were worth splitting the 
coin with. You’re not. Now get out of your 
clothes.” 

He was obeyed in fumbling haste, and while that 
operation went on, he succeeded in jumping out of 
his own rags and still kept the two fairly steadily 
under the nose of his gun. He tossed this bundle 
to Godwin, who accepted it with a faint oath; and 
Donnegan stepped calmly and swiftly into the clothes 
of his victim. 

“A perfect fit,” he said at length, “and to show 



HE STEALS A MAN 109 

that I’m pleased, here’s your purse back. Must be 
close to two hundred in that, from the weight.” 

Godwin muttered some intelligible curse. 

“Tush. Now, get out! If you show your face 
in The Corner again, some of those miners will spot 
you, and they’ll dress you in tar and feathers.” 

“You fool. If they see you in my clothes?” 

“They’ll never see these after to-night, probably. 
You have other clothes in your packs, Godwin. 
Lots of ’em. You’re the sort who knows how to 
dress, and I’ll borrow your outfit. Get out!” 

The other made no reply; a weight seemed to have 
fallen upon him along with his new outfit, and he 
slunk into the darkness. George made a move to 
follow; there was a muffled shriek from Godwin, 
who fled headlong; and then a sharp command from 
Donnegan stopped the negro. 

“Come here,” said Donnegan. 

George Washington Green rode slowly closer. 

“If I let you go what would you do?” 

There was a glint of teeth. 

“I’d find him.” 

“And break him in two, eh? Instead, I’m going 
to take you home, where you’ll have a chance of 
breaking me in two instead. There’s something 
about the cut of your shoulders and your head that 
I like, Green; and if you don’t murder me in the 
first hour or so, I think we’ll get on very well 
together. You hear?” 

The silence of George Washington Green was a 
tremendous thing. 

“Now ride ahead of me. I’ll direct you how 
to go.” 

He went first straight back through the town 
and up the hill to the two tents. He made George 


no 


DONNEGAN 


go before him into the tent and take up the roll of 
bedding; and then, with George and the bedding 
leading the way, and Donnegan leading the two 
horses behind, they went across the hillside to a 
shack which he had seen vacated that evening. It 
certainly could not be rented again before morn¬ 
ing, and in the meantime Donnegan would be in 
possession, which was a large part of the law in 
The Corner, as he knew. 

A little lean-to against the main shack served as 
a stable; the creek down the hillside was the water¬ 
ing trough. And Donnegan stood by while the big 
negro silently tended to the horses—removing the 
packs and preparing them for the night. Still in 
silence he produced a small lantern and lighted it. 
It showed his face for the first time-—the skin 
ebony black and polished over the cheekbones, but 
the rest of the face almost handsome, except that 
the slight flare of his nostrils gave him a cast of 
inhuman ferocity. And the fierceness was given 
point by a pair of arms of gorilla length; broad 
shoulders padded with rolling muscles, and the neck 
of a bull. On the whole, Donnegan, a connoisseur 
of fighting men, had never such promise of strength. 

At his gesture, the negro led the way into the 
house. It was more commodious than most of the 
shacks of The Corner. In place of a single room 
this had two compartments—one for the kitchen and 
another for the living room. In vacating the hut, 
the last occupants had left some of the furnishings 
behind them. There was a mirror, for instance, in 
the corner; and beneath the mirror a cheap table in 
whose open drawer appeared a tumble of papers. 
Donnegan dropped the heavy sack of the Godwin’s 
winnings to the floor, and while the negro hung 


HE STEALS A MAN in 

the lantern on a nail on the wall, Donnegan crossed 
to the table and appeared to run through the papers. 

He was humming carelessly while he did it, but 
all the time he watched with catlike intensity the 
reflection of George in the mirror above him. He 
saw—rather dimly, for the cheap glass showed all 
its images in waves—that George turned abruptly 
after hanging up the lantern, paused, and then 
whipped a hand into his coat pocket and out again. 

Donnegan leaped lightly to one side, and the 
knife, hissing past his head, buried itself in the wall, 
and its vibrations set up a vicious humming. As 
for Donnegan, the leap that carried him to one side 
whirled him about also; he faced the big negro who 
was now crouched in the very act of following the 
knife cast with the lunge of his powerful body. 
There was no weapon in the hand of the white 
man, and yet George hesitated, balanced—and then 
slowly drew himself erect. 

He was puzzled. An outburst of oaths, the flash 
of a gun. and he would have been at home in the 
brawl, but the silence, the smile of Donnegan and 
the steady glance were too much for him. Presently 
his eyes rolled white, the certain sign of fear; he 
moistened his lips, and yet he could not speak. And 
Donnegan knew that what paralyzed the negro was 
the manner in which the white man had received 
warning. Evidently the simple explanation of the 
mirror did not occur to the fellow; and the whole 
incident took on supernatural colorings. A phrase 
of explanation and Donnegan would become again 
an ordinary human being; but while the small link 
was a mystery the brain and body of George were 
numb. It was necessary above all to continue unex¬ 
plainable. Donnegan, turning, drew the knife from 


II2 


DONNEGAN 


the wall with a jerk. Half the length of the keen 
blade had sunk into the wood—a mute tribute to 
the force and speed of George’s hand—and now the 
master took the bright little weapon by the point 
and gave it back to the other. 

“If you throw for the body instead of the head,” 
said Donnegan, “you have a better chance of send¬ 
ing the point home.” 

He turned his back again upon the gaping negro, 
and drawing up a broken box before the open door 
he sat down to contemplate the night. Not a sound 
behind him. It might be that the big fellow had 
regained his nerve and was stealing up for a second 
attempt; but Donnegan would have wagered his soul 
that George Washington Green had his first and 
last lesson and that he would rather play with bare 
lightning than ever again cross his new master. 

At length: “When you make down the bunks,” 
said Donnegan, “put mine farthest from the kitchen. 
You had better do that first.” 

“Yes—sir,” came the deep bass murmur behind 
him. 

And the heart of Donnegan stirred, for that “sir” 
meant many things. 

Presently George crossed the floor with a burden; 
there was the “whish” of the blankets being unrolled 
—and then a slight pause. It seemed to him that 
he could hear a heavier breathing. Why? And 
searching swiftly back through his memory he re¬ 
called that his other gun, a stub-nosed thirty-eight, 
was in the center of his blanket roll. 

And he knew that George had the weapon in 
his big hand. One pressure of the trigger would 
put an end to Donnegan; one bullet would give 
George the canvas sack and its small treasure. 


HE STEALS A MAN 113 

“When you clean my gun,” said Donnegan, “take 
the action to pieces and go over every part.” 

He could actually feel the start of George. 

Then: “Yes, sir,” in a subdued whisper. 

If the escape from the knife had startled George, 
this second incident had convinced him that his 
new master possessed eyes in the back of his head. 

And Donnegan, paying no further heed to him, 
looked steadily across the hillside to the white tent 
of Lou Macon, fifty yards away. 


CHAPTER XVI 

HE MAKES A NEW SCHEME 

H IS plan, grown to full stature so swiftly, and 
springing out of nothing, well nigh, had come 
out of his first determination to bring Jack Landis 
back to Lou Macon; for he could interpret those 
blank, misty eyes with which she had sat after the 
departure of Landis in only one way. Yet to rule 
even the hand of big Jack Landis would be hard 
enough and to rule his heart was quite another story. 
Remembering Nelly Lebrun, he saw clearly that the 
only way in which he could be brought back to Lou 
was first to remove Nelly as a possibility in his eyes. 
But how remove Nelly as long as it was her cue 
from her father to play Landis for his money? 
How remove her, unless it were possible to sweep 
Nelly off her feet with another man? She might, 
indeed, be taken by storm, and if she once slighted 
Landis for the sake of another, his boyish pride 
would probably do the rest, and his next step would 
be to return to Lou Macon. 

All this seemed logical, but where find the man 
to storm the heart of Nelly and dazzle her bright, 
clever eyes? His own rags had made him shrug his 
shoulders; and it was the thought of clothes which 
had made him fasten his attention so closely on the 
man of the linen suit in Lebrun’s. Donnegan with 
money, with well-fitted clothes, and with a few no¬ 
torious escapades behind him—yes, Donnegan with 
such a flying start might flutter the heart of Nelly 


HE MAKES A NEW SCHEME 115 

Lebrun for a moment. But he must have the money, 
the clothes, and then he must deliberately set out to 
startle The Corner, make himself a public figure, 
talked of, pointed at, known, feared, respected, and 
even loved by at least a few. He must accomplish 
all these things beginning at a literal zero. 

It was the impossible nature of this that tempted 
Donnegan. But the paradoxical picture of the 
ragged skulker in Milligan’s actually sitting at the 
same table with Nelly Lebrun and receiving her 
smiles stayed with him. He intended to rise, liter¬ 
ally Phcenixlike, out of ashes. And the next morn¬ 
ing, in the red time of the dawn, he sat drinking 
the coffee which George Washington Green had 
made for him and considering the details of the 
problem. Clothes, which had been a main obstacle, 
were now accounted for, since, as he had suspected, 
the packs of Godwin contained a luxurious ward¬ 
robe of considerable compass. At that moment, for 
instance, Donnegan was wrapped in a dressing gown 
of padded silk and his feet were encased in slippers. 

But clothes were the least part of his worries. To 
startle The Corner, and thereby make himself at¬ 
tractive in the eyes of Nelly Lebrun, overshadowing 
Jack Landis—that was the thing! But to startle 
The Corner, where gold strikes were events of every 
twenty-four hours, just now—where robberies were 
common gossip, and where the killings now averaged 
nearly three a day—to startle The Corner was like 
trying to startle the theatrical world with a sensa¬ 
tional play. Indeed, this parallel could have been 
pursued, for Donnegan was the nameless actor and 
the mountain desert was the stage on which he 
intended to become a headliner. No wonder, then, 
that his lean face was compressed in thought. Yet 


DONNEGAN 


116 

no one could have guessed it by his conversation. 
At the moment he was interrupted, his talk ran 
somewhat as follows. 

, “George, Godwin taught you how to make coffee?” 

“Yes, sir,” from George. Since the night before 
the negro had appeared totally subdued. Never 
once did he venture a comment. And ever Donne- 
gan was conscious of big, bright eyes watching him 
in a reverent fear not untinged by superstition. 
Once, in the middle of the night, he had wakened 
and seen the vast shadow of George’s form leaning* 
over the sack of money. Murder by stealth in the 
dark had been in the negro’s mind, no doubt. But 
when, after that, he came and leaned over Donne- 
gan’s bunk, the master closed his eyes and kept on 
breathing regularly, and finally the negro returned 
to his own place—softly as a gigantic cat. Even 
in the master’s sleep he found something to be 
dreaded, and Donnegan knew that he could now 
trust the fellow through anything. In the morning, 
at the first touch of light, he had gone to the 
stores and collected provisions. And a comfortable 
breakfast followed. 

“Godwin,” resumed Donnegan, “was talented in 
many ways.” 

The negro showed his teeth in silence; for since 
Godwin proposed the sacrifice of the servant to 
preserve himself, George had aparently altered his 
opinion of the gambler. 

A talented man, George, but he knew nothing 
about coffee. It should never boil. It should only 
begin to cream through the crust. Let that happen ; 
take the pot from the fire; put it back and let the 
surface cream again. Do this three times, and then 
pour the liquor from the grounds and you have the 


HE MAKES A NEW SCHEME 117 

right strength and the right heating. You under¬ 
stand ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And concerning the frying of bacon—*—” 

At this point the interruption came in the shape 
of four men at the open door; and one of these 
Donnegan recognized as the real estate dealer, who 
had shrewdly set up tents and shacks on every 
favorable spot in The Corner and was now reaping 
a rich harvest. Gloster was his name. It was 
patent that he did not see in the man in the silk 
dressing robe the unshaven miscreant of the day 
before who had rented the two tents. 

“How’dee,” he said, standing on the threshold, 
with the other three in the background. 

Donnegan looked at him and through him. 

“My name is Gloster. I own this shack and I’ve 
come to find out why you’re in it.” 

“George,” said Donnegan, “speak to him. Tell 
him that I know houses are scarce in The Corner; 
that I found this place by accident vacant; that I 
intend to stay in it on purpose.” 

George Washington Green instantly rose to the 
situation; he swallowed a vast grin and strode to 
the door. And though Mr. Gloster’s face crim¬ 
soned with rage at such treatment he controlled his 
voice. In The Corner manhood was apt to be 
reckoned by the pound, and George was a giant. 

“I heard what your boss said, buddie,” said Glos¬ 
ter. “But I’ve rented this cabin and the next one 
to these three gents and their party, and they want 
a home. Nothing to do but vacate. Which speed 
is the thing I want. Thirtv minutes will-” 

“Thirty minutes don’t change nothing,” declared 
George in his deep, soft voice. 




n8 


DONNEGAN 


The real estate man choked. Then: “You tell 
your boss that jumping a cabin is like jumping a 
claim. They’s a law in The Corner for gents like 
him.” 

George made a gesture of helplessness; but Gloster 
turned to the three. 

“Both shacks or none at all,” said the spokesman. 
“One ain't big enough to do us any good. But if 
this bird won’t vamose-” 

He was a tolerably rough appearing sort and 
he was backed by two of a kind. No doubt dan¬ 
gerous action would have followed had not George 
shown himself capable of rising to a height. He 
stepped from the door; he approached Gloster and 
said in a confidential whisper that reached easily 
to the other three: “They ain't any call for a quick 
play, mister. Watch yo'selves. Maybe you don't 
know who the boss is?” 

“And what’s more, I don't care,” said Gloster 
defiantly but with his voice instinctively lowered. 
He stared past George, and behold, the man in the 
dressing gown still sat in quiet and sipped his coffee. 

“It’s Donnegan,” whispered George. 

“Don—who's he?” 

“You don't know Donnegan?” 

The mingled contempt and astonishment of George 
would have moved a thing of stone. It certainly 
troubled Gloster. And he turned to the three. 

“Gents,” he said, “they's two things we can do. 
Try the law—and law’s a lame lady in these parts 
—or throw him out. Say which?” 

The three looked from Gloster to the shack; from 
the shack to Donnegan, absently sipping his coffee; 
from Donnegan to George, who stood exhibiting a 



HE MAKES A NEW SCHEME 


119 

broad grin of anticipated delight. The contrast was 
too much for them. 

There is one great and deep-seated terror in the 
mountain desert, and that is for the man who may 
be other than he seems. The giant with the rough 
voice and the boisterous ways is generally due 
for a stormy passage west of the Rockies; but the 
silent man with the gentle manners receives respect. 
Traditions live of desperadoes with exteriors of 
womanish calm and the action of devils. And Don- 
negan sipping his morning coffee fitted into the 
picture which rumor had painted. The three looked 
at one another, declared that they had not come to 
fight for a house but to rent one, that the real estate 
agent could go to the devil for all of them, and 
that they were bound elsewhere. So they departed 
and left Gloster both relieved and gloomy. 

“Now,” said Donnegan to George, “tell him that 
we’ll take both the shacks, and he can add fifty 
p^r cent to his old price.” 

The bargain was concluded on the spot; the 
money was paid by George. Gloster went down 
the hill to tell The Corner that a mystery had hit 
the town and George brought the canvas bag back 
to Donnegan with the top still untied—as though 
to let it be seen that he had not pocketed any of 
the gold. 

“I don’t want to count it,” said Donnegan. “Keep 
the bag, George. Keep money in your pocket. Treat 
both of us well. And when that’s gone I’ll get 
more.” 

If the manner in which Donnegan had handled the 
renting of the cabins had charmed George, he was 
wholly entranced by this last touch of free spend¬ 
ing. To serve a man who was his master was one 


120 


DONNEGAN 


thing; to serve one who trusted him so completely 
was quite another. To live under the same roof 
with a man who was a riddle was sufficiently de¬ 
lightful; but to be allowed actually to share in the 
mystery was a super-happiness. He was singing 
when he started to wash the dishes, and Donnegan 
went across the hill to the tent of Lou Macon. 

She was laying the fire before the tent; and the 
morning freshness had cleared from her face any 
vestige of the trouble of the night before; and in 
the slant light her hair was glorious, all ruffling 
gold, semitransparent. She did not smile at him; 
but she could give the effect of smiling while her 
face remained grave; it was her inward calm con¬ 
tent of which people were aware. 

“You missed me?” 

“Yes.” 

“You were worried?” 

“No.” 

He felt himself put quietly at a distance. So he 
took her up the hill to her new home—the shack 
beside his own; and George cooked her breakfast. 
When she had been served, Donnegan drew the 
negro to one side. 

“She's your mistress,” said Donnegan. “Every¬ 
thing you do for her is worth two things you do for 
me. Watch her as if she were in your eye. And 
if a hair of her head is ever harmed—you see that 
fire burning yonder—the bed of coals?” 

“Sir?” 

“I’ll catch you and make a fire like that and feed 
you into it—by inches!” 

And the pale face of Donnegan became for an 
instant the face of a demon. George Washington 
Green saw, and never forgot. 


HE MAKES A NEW SCHEME 121 

Afterward, in order that he might think, Donne- 
gan got on one of the horses he had taken from 
Godwin and rode over the hills. They were both 
leggy chestnuts, with surprising signs of blood and 
all the earmarks of sprinters; but in Godwin’s trade 
sharp get-aways were probably often necessary. The 
pleasure he took in the action of the animal kept 
him from getting into his problem. 

How to startle The Corner? How follow up 
the opening gun which he had fired at the expense 
of Gloster and the three miners? 

He broke off, later in the day, to write a letter 
to Colonel Macon, informing him that Jack Landis 
was tied hard and fast by Nelly Lebrun and that 
for the present nothing could be done except wait, 
unless the colonel had suggestions to offer. 

The thought of the colonel, however, stimulated 
Donnegan. And before midafternoon he had 
thought of a thing to do. 


CHAPTER XVII 


HE STEPS ON THE STAGE 

T HE bar in Milligan’s was not nearly so pre¬ 
tentious an affair as the bar in Lebrun’s, but 
it was of a far higher class. Milligan had even 
managed to bring in a few bottles of wine, and he 
had dispensed cheap claret at two dollars a glass 
when the miners wished to celebrate a rare occa¬ 
sion. There were complaints, not of the taste, but 
of the lack of strength. So Milligan fortified his 
liquor with pure alcohol and after that the claret 
went like a sweet song in The Corner. Among 
other things, he sold mint juleps; and it was the 
memory of the big sign proclaiming this fact that 
furnished Donnegan with his idea. 

He had George Washington Green put on his 
town clothes—a riding suit in which Godwin had 
had him dress for the sake of formal occasions. 
Resplendent in black boots, yellow riding breeches, 
and blue silk shirt, the big negro came before 
Donnegan for instructions. 

“Go down to Milligan’s,” said the master. “They 
don’t allow colored people to enter the door, but you 
go to the door and start for the bar.” George 
turned green, but said nothing. “They won’t let you 
go very far. When they stop you, tell them you 
come from Donnegan and that you have to get 
me some mint for a julep. Insist. The bouncer 
will start to throw you out.” 

George showed his teeth. 


HE STEPS ON THE STAGE 


123 


“No fighting back. Don’t lift your hand. When 
you find that you can’t get in, come back here. 
Now, ride.” 

So George mounted the horse and went. It was 
not a task to his liking. With the exception of the 
quiet-voiced fiend Donnegan, who had eyes in the 
back of his head, George was quite willing to face 
any man in the world, white or black, so long as 
he could choose his own ground, but he knew that 
there are certain things which it is ill for one of 
his color to do, and that is to enter precincts set 
apart for the whites. 

Straight to Milligan’s he rode and dismounted; 
and half of The Corner’s scant daytime population 
came into the street to see the brilliant horseman 
pass. 

“Scar-faced” Lewis met the giant negro at the 
door. And size meant little to Andy, except an 
easier target. 

“Well, confound my soul,” said Lewis, blocking 
the way. “A nigger in Milligan’s? Get out!” 

Big George did not move. 

“I been sent, mister,” he said mildly. “I been 
sent for enough mint to make a julep.” 

“You been sent to the wrong place,” declared 
Andy, hitching at his cartridge belt. “Ain’t you seen 
that sign?” 

And he pointed to the one which eliminated col¬ 
ored patrons. 

“Signs don’t mean nothin’ to my boss,” said 
George. 

“Who’s he?” 

“Donnegan.” 

“And who’s Donnegan ?” 

It puzzled George. He scratched his head in be- 


124 


DONNEGAN 


wilderment seeking for an explanation. “Donnegan 
is—Donnegan/' he explained. 

“I heard Gloster talk about him/’ offered some 
one in the rapidly growing group. “He’s the gent 
that rented the two places on the hill.” 

“Tell him to come himse’f,” said Andy Lewis. 
“We don’t play no favorites at Milligan’s.” 

“Mister,” said big George, “I don’t want to bring 
no trouble on this heah place, but—don’t make me 
go back and bring Donnegan.” 

Even Andy Lewis was staggered by this assur¬ 
ance. 

“Rules is rules,” he finally decided. “And out 
you go.” 

Big George stepped from the doorway and 
mounted his horse. 

“I call on all you gen’lemen,” he said to the 
assembled group, “to say that I done tried my best 
to do this peaceable. It ain’t me that’s sent for 
Donnegan; it’s him!” 

He rode away, leaving Scar-faced Lewis biting his 
long mustaches in anxiety. He was not exactly 
afraid, but he waited in the suspense which comes 
before a battle. Moreover, an audience was gather¬ 
ing. The word went about as only a rumor of 
mischief can travel. New men had gathered. The 
few day gamblers tumbled out of Lebrun’s across 
the street to watch the fun. The storekeepers were 
in their doors. Lebrun himself, withered and dark 
and yellow of eye, came to watch. And here and 
there through the crowd there was a spot of color 
where the women of the town appeared. And 
among others, Nelly Lebrun with Jack Landis beside 
her. On the whole it was not a large crowd, but 
what it lacked in size it made up in intense interest. 


HE STEPS ON THE STAGE 


125 


For though The Corner had had its share of 
troubles of fist and gun, most of them were entirely 
impromptu affairs. Here was a fight in the offing 
for which the stage was set, the actors set in full 
view of a conveniently posted audience, and all the 
suspense of a curtain rising. The waiting bore in 
upon Andy Lewis. Without a doubt he intended 
to kill his man neatly and with dispatch, but the 
possibility of missing before such a crowd as this 
sent a chill up and down his spine. If he failed 
now his name would be a sign for laughter ever 
after in The Corner. 

A hum passed down the street; it rose to a 
chuckle, and then fell away to sudden silence, for 
Donnegan was coming. 

Fie came on a prancing chestnut horse which 
sidled uneasily on a weaving course, as though it 
wished to show off for the benefit of the rider and 
the crowd at once. It was a hot afternoon and 
Donnegan’s linen riding suit shone an immaculate 
white. He came straight down the street, as una¬ 
ware of the audience which awaited him as though 
he rode in a park where crowds were the common 
thing. Behind him came George Green, just a care¬ 
ful length back. Rumor went before the two with 
a whisper on either side. 

“That’s Donnegan. There he comes!” 

“Who’s Donnegan?” 

“Gloster’s man. The one who bluffed out Gloster 
and three others.” 

“He pulled his shooting iron and trimmed the 
whiskers of one of ’em with a chunk of lead.” 

“D’you mean that?” 

“What’s that kind of a gent doing in The Cor¬ 
ner?” 


126 


DONNEGAN 


“Come to buy, I guess. He looks like money. ,, 

“Looks like a confounded dude.” 

“We’ll see his hand in a minute.” 

Donnegan was now opposite the dance hall, and 
Andy Lewis had his hand touching the butt of his 
gun, but though Donnegan was looking straight at 
him, he kept his reins in one hand and his heavy 
riding crop in the other. And without a move 
toward his own gun, he rode straight up to the door 
of the dance hall, with Andy in front of it. The 
negro drew rein behind him and turned upon the 
crowd one broad, superior grin. 

As who should say: “I promised you lightning; 
now watch it strike!” 

If the crowd had been expectant before, it was 
now reduced to wire-drawn tenseness. 

“Are you the fellow who turned back my man?” 
asked Donnegan. 

His quiet voice fell coldly upon the soul of Andy. 
He strove to warm himself by an outbreak of tem¬ 
per. 

“They ain’t any poor fool dude can call me a 
'fellow!’ ” he shouted. 

The crowd blinked; but when it opened its eyes 
the gunplay had not occurred. The hand of Andy 
was relaxing from the butt of his gun and an 
expression of astonishment and contempt was grow¬ 
ing upon his face* 

“I haven’t come to curse you,” said the rider, 
still occupying his hands with crop and reins. “I’ve 
come to ask you a question and get an answer. 
Are you the fellow who turned back my man?” 

I guess you ain’t the kind I was expectin’ to 
call on me, drawled Andy, his fear gone, and he 
winked at the crowd. But the others were not yet 


HE STEPS ON THE STAGE 


127 


ready to laugh. Something about the calm face of 
Donnegan had impressed them. “Sure, I’m the one 
that kicked the coon out. Niggers ain’t allowed 
in there.” 

“It’s the last of my thoughts to break in upon 
a convention in your city,” replied the grave rider, 
“but my man did not come to use the place as a 
dance hall. He was sent on an errand—as a servant 
—and therefore he had a right to expect a servant’s 
courtesy. George, get off your horse and go into 
Milligan’s place. I want that mint!” 

For a moment Andy was too stunned to answer. 
Then his voice came harshly and he swayed from 
side to side, gathering and summoning his wrath. 

“Keep out, nigger! Keep out, or you’re buzzard 
meat. I’m warnin’-” 

For the first time his glance left the rider to find 
George, and that instant was fatal. The hand of 
Donnegan licked out as the snake’s tongue darts— 
the loaded quirt slipped over in his hand, and hold¬ 
ing it by the lash he brought the butt of it thudding 
on the head of Andy. 

Even then the instinct to fight remained in the 
stunned man; while he fell, he was drawing the 
revolver; he lay in a crumpling heap at the feet of 
Donnegan’s horse with the revolver shoved muzzle 
first into the sand. 

Donnegan’s voice did not rise. 

“Go in and get that mint, George,” he ordered. 
“And hurry. This rascal has kept me waiting until 
I’m thirsty.” 

Big George hesitated only one instant—it was to 
sweep the crowd for the second time with his con¬ 
fident grin—and he strode through the door of the 
dance hall. As for Donnegan, his only movement 



128 


DONNEGAN 


was to swing his horse around and shift riding crop 
and reins into the grip of his left hand. His other 
hand was dropped carelessly upon his hip. Now, 
both these things were very simple maneuvers, but 
The Corner noted that his change of face had 
enabled Donnegan to bring the crowd under his 
eye, and that his right hand was now ready for 
a more serious bit of work if need be. Moreover, 
he was probing faces with his glance. And every 
armed man in that group felt that the eye of the 
rider was directed particularly toward him. 

There had been one brief murmur; then the silence 
lay heavily again, for it was seen that Andy had 
been only slightly stunned—knocked out, as a boxer 
might be. Now his sturdy brains were clearing. 
His body stiffened into a human semblance once 
more; he fumbled, found the butt of his gun with 
his first move. He pushed his hat straight, and so 
doing he raked the welt which the blow had left on 
his head. The pain finished clearing the mist from 
his mind; in an instant he was on his feet, maddened 
with shame. He saw the semicircle of white faces, 
and the whole episode flashed back on him. He 
had been knocked down like a dog. 

For a moment he looked into the blank faces of 
the crowd; some one noted that there was no gun 
strapped at the side of Donnegan. A voice shouted 
a warning. 

“Stop, Lewis. The dude ain’t got a gun. It’s 
murder!” 

It was now that Lewis saw Donnegan sitting the 
saddle directly behind him, and he whirled with a 
moan of fury. It was a twist of his body—in his 
eagerness—rather than a turning upon his feet. 
And he was half around before the rider moved. 


HE STEPS ON THE STAGE 


129 


Then he conjured a gun from somewhere in his 
clothes. There was the flash of the steel, an explo¬ 
sion, and Scarfaced Lewis was on his knees with a 
scream of pain holding his right forearm with his 
left hand. 

The crowd hesitated still for a second, as though 
it feared to interfere; but Donnegan had already 
put up his weapon. A wave of the curious specta¬ 
tors rushed across the street and gathered around 
the injured man. They found that he had been 
shot through the fleshy part of the thumb, and the 
bullet, ranging down the arm, had sliced a furrow 
to the bone all the way to the elbow. It was a 
grisly wound. 

Big George Washington Green came running to 
the door of the dance hall with a sprig of some¬ 
thing green in his hand; one glance assured him that 
all was well; and once more that wide, confident 
grin spread upon his face. He came to the master 
and offered the mint; and Donnegan, raising it to 
his face, inhaled the scent deeply. 

“Good,” he said. “And now for a julep, George! 
Let’s go home!” 

Across the street a dark-eyed girl had clasped the 
arm of her companion in hysterical excitement. 

“Did you see?” she asked of her tall companion. 

“I saw a murderer shoot down a man; he ought 
to be hung for it!” 

“But the mint! Did you see him smile over it? 
Oh, what a devil he is; and what a man!” 

Jack Landis flashed a glance of suspicion down 
at her, but her dancing eyes had quite forgotten 
him. They were following the progress of Donne¬ 
gan down the street. He rode slowly, and the negro 
kept that formal distance, just a length behind. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


HE CALLS FOR THE SPOTLIGHT 

B EFORE Milligan’s the crowd began to buzz like 
murmuring hornets around a nest that has been 
tapped, when they pour out and cannot find the dis¬ 
turber. It was a rather helpless milling around the 
wounded man, and Nelly Lebrun was the one who 
worked her way through the crowd and came to 
Andy Lewis. She did not like Andy. She had been 
known to refer to him as a cowardly hawk of a 
man; but now she bullied the crowd in a shrill voice 
and made them bring water and cloth. Then she 
cleansed and bandaged the wound in Andy Lewis’ 
arm and had some of them take him away. 

By this time the outskirts of the crowd had 
melted away; but those who had really seen all parts 
of the little drama remained to talk. The subject 
was a real one. Had Donnegan aimed at the hand 
of Andy and risked his own life on his ability to 
disable the other without killing him? Or had he 
fired at Lewis’ body and struck the hand and arm 
only by a random lucky chance? 

If the second were the case, he was only a fair 
shot with plenty of nerve and a great deal of luck. 
If the first were true, then his was a nerve of ice- 
tempered steel, an eye vulture-sharp, and a hand, 
miraculous, fast, and certain. To strike that swing¬ 
ing hand with a snap shot, when a miss meant a 
bullet fired at his own body at deadly short range— 
truly it would take a credulous man to believe that 


HE CALLS FOR THE SPOTLIGHT 131 


Donnegan had coldly planned to disable his man 
without killing him. 

“A murderer by intention,” exclaimed Milligan. 
He had hunted long and hard before he found a 
man with a face like that of Lewis, capable of main¬ 
taining order by a glance; now he wanted revenge. 
Also, a negro had entered his place and for the first 
time one of his laws had been broken. “A murderer 
by intention!” he cried to the crowd, standing beside 
the place where the imprint of Andy’s knees was 
still in the sand. “And like a murderer he ought to 
be treated. He aimed to kill Andy; he had luck 
and only broke his hand. Now, boys, I say it ain’t 
so much what he’s done as the way he’s done it. 
He’s given us the laugh. He’s come in here in his 
dude clothes and tried to walk over us. But it 
don’t work. Not in The Corner. If Andy was dead 
I’d say lynch the dude. But he ain’t, and all I say 
is: Run him out of town.” 

Here there was a brief outburst of applause, but 
when it ended, it was observed that there was a low, 
soft laughter. The crowd gave way between Milli¬ 
gan and the mocker. It was seen that he who 
laughed was old Lebrun, rubbing his olive-skinned 
hands together and showing his teeth in his mirth. 
There was no love lost between Lebrun and Milligan, 
even if Nelly was often in the dance hall and the 
center of its merriment. 

“It takes a thief to catch a thief,” said Lebrun 
enigmatically, when he saw that he had the ear of 
the crowd, “and it takes a man to catch a man.” 

“What the devil do you mean by that?” a dozen 
voices asked. 

“I mean, that if you got men enough to run out 


132 


DONNEGAN 


this man Donnegan, The Corner is a better town 
than I think.” 

It brought a growl, but no answer. Lebrun had 
never been seen to lift his hand, but he was more 
dreaded than a rattler. 

“We’ll try,” said Milligan dryly. “I ain’t much 
of a man myself”—there were dark rumors about 
Milligan’s past, and the crowd chuckled at this mod¬ 
esty—“but I’ll try my hand agin’ him with a bit of 
backing. And first I want to tell you boys that they 
ain’t any danger of him having aimed at Andy’s 
hand. I tell you, it ain’t possible, hardly, for him 
to have planned to hit a swingin’ target like that. 
Maybe some could do it. I dunno.” 

“How about Lord Nick?” 

“Sure, Lord Nick might do anything. But Don¬ 
negan ain’t Lord Nick.” 

“Not by twenty pounds and three inches.” 

This brought a laugh. And by comparison with 
the terrible and familiar name of Lord Nick, Donne¬ 
gan became a smaller danger. Besides, as Milligan 
said, it was undoubtedly luck. And when he called 
for volunteers, three or four stepped up at once. 
The others made a general milling, as though each 
were trying to get forward and each were prevented 
by the crowd in front. But in the background big 
Jack Landis was seriously trying to get to the firing 
line. He was encumbered with the clinging weight 
of Nelly Lebrun. 

“Don’t go, Jack,” she pleaded. “Please! Please! 
Be sensible. For my sake!” 

She backed this appeal with a lifting of her eyes 
and a parting of her lips, and Jack Landis paused. 

“You won’t go, dear Jack?” 

Now, Jack knew perfectly well that the girl was 


HE CALLS FOR THE SPOTLIGHT 133 


only half sincere. It is the peculiar fate of men 
that they always know when a woman is playing 
with them, but, from Samson down, they always go 
to the slaughter with open eyes, hoping each moment 
that the girl has been seriously impressed at last. 
As for Jack Landis, his slow mind did not readily 
get under the surface of the arts of Nelly, but he 
knew now that there was at least a tinge of real 
concern in the girl’s desire to keep him from the 
posse which Milligan was raising. 

“But they’s something about him that I don’t like, 
Nelly. Something sort of familiar that I don’t like.” 
For naturally enough he did not recognize the trans¬ 
formed Donnegan, and the name he had never heard 
before. “A gun-fighter, that’s what he is!” 

“Why, Jack, sometimes they call you the same 
thing; say that you hunt for trouble now and then!” 

“Do they say that?” asked the young chap quickly, 
flushing with vanity. “Oh, I aim to take care of 
myself. And I’d like to take a hand with this mur¬ 
dering Donnegan.” 

“Jack, listen! Don’t go; keep away from him!” 

“Why do you look like that? As if I was a 
dead one already.” 

“I tell you, Jack, he’d kill you!” 

Something in her terrible assurance whitened the 
cheeks of Landis, but he was also angered. When 
a very young man becomes both afraid and angry he 
is apt to be dangerous. “What do you know of 
him?” he asked suspiciously. 

“You silly! But I saw his face when he lifted 
that mint. He’d already forgotten about the man 
he had just shot down. He was thinking of nothing 
but the scent of the mint. And did you notice the 
negro? The big negro? He never had a moment’s 


134 


DONNEGAN 


doubt of his master’s ability to handle the entire 
crowd. I tell you, it gave me a chill of ghosts to 
see the big black fellow’s eyes. He knew that Don- 
negan would win. And Donnegan won! Jack, 
you’re a big man and a strong man and a brave 
man, and we all know it. But don’t be foolish. 
Stay away from Donnegan!” 

He wavered just an instant. If she could have 
sustained her pleading gaze a moment longer she 
would have won him, but at the critical instant her 
gaze became distant. She was seeing the calm face 
of Donnegan as he raised the mint. And as though 
he understood, Jack Landis hardened. 

“I’m glad you don’t want me shot up, Nelly,” 
he said coldly. “Mighty good of you to watch out 
for me. But—I’m going to run this Donnegan out 
of town!” 

“He’s never harmed you; why-” 

“I don’t like his looks. For a man like me that’s 
enough!” 

And he strode away toward Milligan. He was 
greeted by a cheer just as the girl reached the side 
of her father. 

“The big fellow is going,” she said. “Make him 
come back!” 

But the old man was still rubbing his hands; there 
seemed to be a perpetual chill in the tips of the 
fingers. 

“He is a jackass. The moment I first saw his 
face I knew that he was meant for gun fodder— 
buzzard food! Let him go. Bah!” 

The girl shivered. “And then the mines?” she 
asked, changing her tactics. 

“Ah, yes. The mines! But leave that to Lord 
Nick. He’ll handle it well enough!” 



HE CALLS FOR THE SPOTLIGHT 135 


So Jack Landis strode up the hill first and fore¬ 
most of the six stalwart men who wished to correct 
the stranger’s apparent misunderstandings of the 
status of The Corner. They were each armed to 
the teeth and each provided with enough bullets to 
disturb a small city. All this in honor of Donnegan. 

They found the shack wrapped in the warm, mel¬ 
low light of the late afternoon; and on a flat-topped 
rock outside it big George sat whittling a stick into 
a grotesque imitation of a snake coiled. He did not 
rise when the posse approached. He merely rocked 
back upon the rock, embraced his knees in both of 
his enormous arms, and, in a word, transformed 
himself into a round ball of mirth. But having 
hugged away his laughter he was able to convert 
his joy into a vast grin. That smile stopped the 
posse. When a mob starts for a scene of violence 
the least exhibition of fear incenses it, but mockery 
is apt to pour water on its flames of anger. 

Decidedly the fury of the posse was chilled by 
the grin of George. Milligan, who had lived south 
of the Mason-Dixon line, stepped up to impress 
George properly. 

“Niggah,” he said, frowning, “go in and tell 
your man that we’ve come for him. Tell him to 
step right out here and get ready to talk. We don’t 
mean him no harm less’n he can’t explain one or two 
things. Hop along, niggah!” 

The “niggah” did not stir. Only he shifted his 
eyes from face to face and his grin broadened. 
Ripples of mirth waved along his chest and con¬ 
vulsed his face, but still he did not laugh. “Go in 
and tell them things to Donnegan,” he said. “But 
don’t ask me to wake up the master. He’s sleepin’ 
soun’ an’ fas.’ Like a baby; mostly, he sleeps every 


DONNEGAN 


136 

day to get rested up for the night. Now, can’t 
you-all wait till Donnegan wakes up to-night? No? 
Then step right in, gen’lemen; but if you-all is set 
on wakin’ him up now, George will jus’ step over 
the hill, because he don’t want to be near the ex¬ 
plosion.” 

At this, he allowed his mirth free rein. His 
laughter shook up to his throat, to his enormous 
mouth; it rolled and bellowed across the hillside; and 
the posse stood, each man in his place, and looked 
frigidly upon one another. But having been laughed 
at, they felt it necessary to go on, and do or die. 
So they strode across the hill and were almost to 
the door when another phenomenon occurred. A 
girl in a cheap calico dress of blue was seen to run 
out of a neighboring shack and spring up before 
the door of Donnegan’s hut. When she faced the 
crowd it stopped again. 

The soft wind was blowing the blue dress into 
lovely, long, curving lines; about her throat a white 
collar of some sheer stuff was being lifted into 
waves, or curling against her cheek; and the golden 
hair, in disorder, was tousled low upon her fore¬ 
head. Whirling thus upon the crowd, she shocked 
them to a pause, with her parted lips, her flare of 
delicate color. 

“Have you come here,” she cried, “for—for Don¬ 
negan?” 

“Lady,” began some one, and then looked about 
for Jack Landis, who was considered quite a hand 
with the ladies. But Jack Landis was discovered 
fading out of view down the hillside. One glance 
at that blue dress had quite routed him, for now 
he remembered the red-haired man who had escorted 
Lou Macon to The Corner—and the colonel’s singu- 


HE CALLS FOR THE SPOTLIGHT 137 


lar trust in this fellow. It explained much, and he 
fled before he should be noted. 

Before the spokesman could continue his speech, 
the girl had whipped inside the door. And the 
posse was dumbfounded. Milligan saw that the 
advance was ruined. “Boys,” he said, “we came to 
fight a man; -not to storm a house with a woman 
in it. Let’s go back. We’ll tend to Donnegan later 
on.” 

“We’ll drill him clean!” muttered the others furi¬ 
ously, and straightway the posse departed down the 
hill. 

But inside the girl had found, to her astonish¬ 
ment, that Donnegan was stretched upon his bunk 
wrapped again in the silken dressing gown and with 
a smile upon his lips. He looked much younger, as 
he slept, and perhaps it was this that made the 
girl steal forward upon tiptoe and touch his shoul¬ 
der so gently. 

He was up on his feet in an instant. Alas, vanity, 
vanity! Donnegan in shoes was one thing, for his 
shoes were of a particular kind; but Donnegan in 
his slippers was a full two inches shorter. He was 
hardly taller than the girl; he was, if the bitter truth 
must be known, almost a small man. And Donnegan 
was furious at having been found by her in such 
careless attire—and without those dignity-building 
shoes. First he wanted to cut the throat of big 
George. 

“What have you done, what have you done?” 
cried the girl, in one of those heart-piercing whispers 
of fear. “They have come for you—a whole crowd 
—of armed men—they’re outside the door! What 
have you done? It was something done for me, 
I know!” 


DONNEGAN 


138 

Donnegan suddenly transferred his wrath from 
big George to the mob. 

“Outside my door?” he asked. And as he spoke 
he slipped on a belt at which a heavy holster tugged 
down on one side, and buckled it around him. 

“Oh, no, no, no!” she pleaded, and caught him 
in her arms. 

Donnegan allowed her to stop him with that soft 
power for a moment, until his face went white— 
as if with pain. Then he adroitly gathered both 
her wrists into one of his bony hands; and having 
rendered her powerless, he slipped by her and cast 
open the door. 

It was an empty scene upon which they looked, 
with big George rocking back and forth upon a 
rock, convulsed with silent laughter. Donnegan 
looked sternly at the girl and swallowed. He was 
fearfully susceptible to mockery. 

“There seems to have been a jest?” he said. 

But she lifted to him a happy, tearful face. 

“Ah, thank Heaven!” she cried gently. 

Oddly enough, Donnegan at this set his teeth and 
turned upon his heel, and the girl stole out the 
door again, and closed it softly behind her. As a 
matter of fact, not even the terrible colonel inspired 
in her quite the fear which Donnegan instilled. 


CHAPTER XIX 


HE GIVES ALMS 

B IG Landis lost his nerve and sidestepped at the 
last minute, and then the whole gang faded.” 
That was the way the rumors of the affair always 
ended at each repetition in Lebrun’s and Milligan’s 
that night. The Corner had had many things to talk 
about during its brief existence, but nothing to com¬ 
pare with a man who entered a shooting scrape with 
such a fellow as Scar-faced Lewis all for the sake 
of a spray of mint. And the main topic of conver¬ 
sation was: Did Donnegan aim at the body or the 
hand of the bouncer ? 

On the whole, it was an excellent thing for Milli¬ 
gan’s. The place was fairly well crowded, with a 
few vacant tables. For every one wanted to hear 
Milligan’s version of the affair. He had a short 
and vigorous one, trimmed with neat oaths. It was 
all the girl in the blue calico dress, according to him. 
The posse couldn’t storm a house with a woman in 
it or even conduct a proper lynching in her presence. 
And no one was able to smile when Milligan said 
this. Neither was any one nervy enough to question 
the courage of Landis. It looked strange, that sud¬ 
den flight of his, but then, he was a proven man. 
Every one remembered the affair of Lester. It had 
been a clean-cut fight, and Jack Landis had won 
cleanly on his merits. 

Nevertheless some of the whispers had not failed 
to come to the big man, and his brow was black. 

The most terribly heartless and selfish passion of 
all is shame in a young man. To repay the sidelong 


140 


DONNEGAN 


f glances which he met on every side, Jack Landis 
!' would have willingly crowded every living soul in 
The Corner into one house and touched a match 
to it. And chiefly because he felt the injustice of 
the suspicion. He had no fear of Donnegan. 

He had a theory that little men had little souls. 
Not that he ever formulated the theory in words, 
but he vaguely felt it and adhered to it. He had 
more fear of one man of six two than of a dozen 
under five ten. He reserved in his heart of hearts 
a place of awe for one man whom he had never 
seen. That was for Lord Nick, for that celebrated 
character was said to be as tall and as finely built 
as Jack Landis himself. But as for Donnegan— 
Landis wished there were three Donnegans instead 
of one. 

To-night his cue was surly silence. For Nelly 
Lebrun had been warned by her father, and she 
was 'making desperate efforts to recover any ground 
she might have lost. Besides, to lose Jack Landis 
would be to lose the most spectacular fellow in The 
Corner, to say nothing of the one who held the 
largest and the choicest of the mines. The blond, 
good looks of Landis made a perfect background for 
her dark beauty. With all these stakes to play for, 
Nelly outdid herself. If she were attractive enough 
ordinarily, when she exerted herself to fascinate, 
Nelly was intoxicating. What chance had poor Jack 
Landis against her? He did not call for her that 
night but went to play gloomily at Lebrun’s until 
Nelly walked into Lebrun’s and drew him away 
from a table. Half an hour later she had him whirl¬ 
ing through a dance in Milligan’s and had danced 
the gloom out of his mind for the moment. Before 
the evening was well under way, Landis was making 


HE GIVES ALMS 


141 

love to her openly, and Nelly was in the position of 
one who had roused the bear. 

It was a dangerous flirtation and it was growing 
clumsy. In any place other than The Corner it would 
have been embarrassing long ago; and when Jack 
Landis, after a dance, put his one big hand over 
both of Nelly’s and held her moveless while he 
poured out a passionate declaration, Nelly realized 
that something must be done. Just what she could 
not tell. 

And it was at this very moment that a wave of 
silence, beginning at the door, rushed across Milli¬ 
gan’s dance floor. It stopped the bartenders in the 
act of mixing drinks; it put the musicians out of 
key, and in the midst of a waltz phrase they broke 
down and came to a discordant pause. 

What was it? 

The men faced the door, wondering, and then the 
swift rumor passed from lip to lip—almost from 
eye to eye, so rapidly it sped—Donnegan is coming! 
Donnegan, and the negro with him. 

“Some one tell Milligan!” 

But Milligan had already heard; he was back 
of the bar giving directions; guns were actually 
unlimbering. What would happen? 

“Shall I get you out of this?” Landis asked the 
girl. 

“Leave now?” She laughed fiercely and silently. 
“I’m just beginning to live! Miss Donnegan in 
action? No, sir!” 

She would have given a good deal to retract that 
sentence, for it washed the face of Landis white 
with jealousy. 

Surely Donnegan had built greater than he knew. 

And suddenly he was there in the midst of the 


142 


DONNEGAN 


house. No one had stopped him—at least, no one 
had interfered with his negro. Big George had on 
a white suit and a dappled green necktie; he stood 
directly behind his master and made him look like 
a small boy. For Donnegan was in black, and he 
had a white neckcloth wrapped as high and stiffly 
as an old-fashioned stock. Altogether he was a 
queer, drab figure compared with the brilliant Don¬ 
negan of that afternoon. He looked older, more 
weary. His lean face was pale; and his hair flamed 
with redoubled ardor on that account. Never was 
hair as red as that, not even the hair of Lord 
Nick, said the people in Milligan’s this night. 

He was perfectly calm even in the midst of that 
deadly silence. He stood looking about him. He 
saw Gloster, the real estate man, and bowed to him 
deliberately. 

For some reason that drew a gasp. 

Then he observed a table which was apparently 
to his fancy and crossed the floor with a light, noise¬ 
less step, big George padding heavily behind him. 
At the little round table he waited until George 
had drawn out the chair for him and then he sat 
down. He folded his arms lightfy upon his breast 
and once more surveyed the scene, and big George 
drew himself up behind his master. Just once his 
eyes rolled and flashed savagely in delight at the 
sensation they were making, then the face of George 
was once again impassive. 

If Donnegan had not carried it of! with a certain 
air, the whole entrance would have seemed decid¬ 
edly stagey, but The Corner, as it was, found much 
to wonder at and little to criticize. And in the 
West grown men are as shrewd judges of affectation 
as children are in other places. 


HE GIVES ALMS 


143 


“Putting on a lot of style, eh?” said Jack Landis, 
and with fierce intensity he watched the face of 
Nelly Lebrun. 

For once she was unguarded. 

“He’s superb!” she exclaimed. “The big negro 
is going to bring a drink for his master.” 

She looked up, surprised by the silence of Landis, 
and found that his face was actually yellow. 

“I’ll tell you something. Do you remember the 
little red-headed tramp who came in here the other 
night and spoke to me?” 

“Very well. You seemed to be bothered.” 

“Maybe. I dunno. But that’s the man—the one 
who’s sitting over there now all dressed up—the man 
The Corner is talking about—Donnegan! A tramp!” 

She caught her breath. 

“Is that the one?” A pause. “Well, I believe it. 
He’s capable of anything!” 

“I think you like him all the better for knowing 
that.” 

“Jack, you’re angry.” 

“Why should I be? I hate to see you fooled by 
the bluff of a tramp, though.” 

“Tush! Do you think I’m fooled by it? But it’s 
an interesting bluff, Jack, don’t you think?” 

“Nelly, he’s interesting enough to make you 
blush; by Heaven, the houn’ is lookin’ right at you 
now, Nelly!” 

He had pressed her suddenly against the wall 
and she struck back desperately in self-defense. 

“By the way, what did he want to see you about ?” 

It spiked the guns of Landis for the time being, 
at least. And the girl followed by striving to prove 
that her interest in Donnegan was purely impersonal. 


144 


DONNEGAN 


“He’s clever/’ she ran on, not daring to look at 
the set face of her companion. “See how he fails 
to notice that he’s making a sensation? You’d 
think he was in a big restaurant in a city. He takes 
the drink off the tray from the negro as if it were 
a common thing to be waited on by a body-servant 
in The Corner. Jack, I’ll wager that there’s some¬ 
thing crooked about him. A professional gambler, 
say!” 

Jack Landis thawed a little under this careless 
chatter. He still did not quite trust her. 

“Do you know what they’re whispering? That 
I was afraid to face him!” 

She tilted her head back, so that the light gleamed 
on her round throat, and she broke into laughter. 

“Why, Jack, that’s foolish. You proved yourself 
when you first came to The Corner. Maybe some 
of the newcomers may have said something, but all 
the old-timers know you had some different reason 
for leaving the rest of them. By the way, what was 
the reason?” 

She sent a keen little glance at him from the 
corner of her eyes, but the moment she saw that 
he was embarrassed and at sea because of the query 
she instantly slipped into a fresh tide of careless 
chatter and covered up his confusion for him. 

“See how the girls are making eyes at him.” 

“I’ll tell you why,” Jack replied. “A girl likes 
to be with the man who’s making the town talk.” 
He added pointedly: “Oh, I’ve found that out!” 

She shrugged that comment away. 

“He isn’t paying the slightest attention to any 
of them,” she murmured. “He’s queer! Has he 
just come here hunting trouble?” 


CHAPTER XX 


HE DANCES 

I T should be understood that before this the men 
in Milligan’s had reached a subtly unspoken 
agreement that red-haired Donnegan was not one of 
them. In a word, they did not like him because he 
made a mystery of himself. And, also, because he 
was different. Yet there was a growing feeling that 
the shooting of Lewis through the hand had not 
been an accident, for the whole demeanor of Donne¬ 
gan composed the action of a man who is a profes¬ 
sional trouble maker. There was no reason why he 
should go to Milligan’s and take his negro with him 
unless he wished a fight. And why a man should 
wish to fight the entire Corner was something no 
one could guess. 

That he should have done all this merely to focus 
all eyes upon him, and particularly the eyes of a 
girl, did not occur to any one. It looked rather like 
the bravado of a man who lived for the sake of 
fighting. Now, men who hunt trouble in the moun¬ 
tain desert generally find all that they may desire, 
but for the time being every one held back, wolf- 
ishly, waiting for another to take the first step 
toward Donnegan. Indeed, there was an unspoken 
conviction that the man who took the first step 
would probably not live to take another. In the 
meantime both men and women gave Donnegan the 
lion’s share of their attention. There was only 
one who was clever enough to conceal it, and that 


146 


DONNEGAN 


one was the pair of eyes to which the red-haired 
man was playing—Nelly Lebrun. She confined her¬ 
self strictly to Jack Landis. 

So it was that when Milligan announced a tag 
dance and the couples swirled onto the floor gayly, 
Donnegan decided to take matters into his own hands 
and offer the first overt act. It was clumsy; he did 
not like it; but he hated this delay. And he knew 
that every moment he stayed on there with big 
George behind his chair was another red rag flaunted 
in the face of The Corner. Of course George was 
entirely in the role of a servant, but that did not 
lessen the insolence of Donnegan. 

He saw the men who had no girl with them 
brighten at the announcement of the tag dance. And 
when the dance began he saw the prettiest girls 
tagged quickly, one after the * other. All except 
Nelly Lebrun. She swung securely around the circle 
in the big arms of Jack Landis. She seemed to be 
set apart and protected from the common touch by 
his size, and by his formidable, challenging eye. 
Donnegan felt as never before the unassailable posi¬ 
tion of this fellow; not only from his own fighting 
qualities, but because he had behind him the whole 
unfathomable power of Lord Nick and his gang. 

Nelly approached in the arms of Landis in making 
the first circle of the dance floor; her eyes, grown 
dull as she surrendered herself wholly to the rhythm 
of the waltz, saw nothing. They were blank as 
unlighted charcoal. She came opposite Donnegan; 
her back was toward him; she swung in the arms 
of Landis, and then, past the shoulder of her part¬ 
ner, s'he flashed a glance at Donnegan. The spark 
had fallen on the charcoal, and her eyes were aflame. 


HE DANCES 147 

Aflame to Donnegan; the next instant the veil had 
dropped across her face once more. 

She was carried on, leaving Donnegan tingling. 

A wise man upon whom that look had fallen 
might have seen, not Nelly Lebrun in the cheap 
dance hall, but Helen of Sparta and all Troy's dead. 
But Donnegan was clever, not wise. And he saw 
only Nelly Lebrun and the broad shoulders of Jack 
Landis. 

Let the critic deal gently with Donnegan. He 
loved Lou MacCin with all his heart and his soul, 
and yet because another beautiful girl had looked 
at him, there he sat at his table with his jaw set 
and the devil in his eye. And while she and Landis 
were whirling through the next circumference of 
the room, Donnegan was seeing all sides of the 
problem. If he tagged Landis it would be casting 
the glove in the face of the big man—and in the 
face of old Lebrun—and in the face of that mys¬ 
terious and evil power, Lord Nick himself. And 
consider, that besides these he had already insulted 
all of The Corner. 

Why not let things go on as they were? Suppose 
he were to* allow Landis to plunge deeper into his 
infatuation? Suppose he were to bring Lou Macon 
to this place and let her see Landis sitting with 
Nelly, making love to her with every tone in his 
voice, every light in his eye? Would not that cure 
Lou? And would not that open the door to Don¬ 
negan ? 

And remember, in considering how Donnegan was 
tempted, that he was not a conscientious man. He 
was in fact what he seemed to me—a wanderer, a 
careless vagrant, living by his wits. For all this, he 
had been touched by the divine fire—a love that is 


148 


DONNEGAN 


greater than self. And the more deeply he hated 
Landis, the more profoundly he determined that he 
should be discarded by Nelly and forced back to 
Lou Macon. In the meantime Nelly and Jack were 
coming again. They were close; they were passing; 
and this time her eye had no spark for Donnegan. 

Yet he rose from his table, reached the floor with 
a few steps, and touched Landis lightly on the 
shoulder. The challenge was passed. Landis stopped 
abruptly and turned his head; his face showed merely 
dull astonishment. The current of dancers split and 
washed past on either side of the motionless trio, 
and on every face there was a glittering curiosity. 
What would Landis do? 

Nothing. He was too stupefied to act. He, Jack 
Landis, had actually been tagged while he was 
dancing with the woman which all The Corner 
knew to be his girl! And before his befogged senses 
cleared the girl was in the arms of the red-haired 
man and was lost in the crowd. 

What a buzz went around the room! For a mo¬ 
ment Landis could no more move than he could 
think; then he sent a sullen glance toward the girl 
and retreated to their table. A childish sullenness 
clouded his face while he sat there; only one de¬ 
cision came clearly to him: he must kill Donnegan! 

In the meantime people noted two things. The 
first was that Donnegan danced very well with Nelly 
Lebrun; and his red hair beside the silken black of 
the girl’s was a startling contrast. It was not a 
common red. It flamed, as though with phosphoric 
properties of its own. But they danced well; and 
the eyes of both of them were gleaming. Another 
thing: men did not tag Donnegan any more than 
they had offered to tag Landis. One or two slipped 


HE DANCES 


149 


out from the outskirts of the floor, but something 
in the face of Donnegan discouraged them and made 
them turn elsewhere as though they had never started 
for Nelly Lebrun in the first place. Indeed, to a 
two-year-old child it would have been apparent that 
Nelly and the red-headed chap were interested in 
each other. 

As a matter of fact they did not speak a single 
syllable until they had gone around the floor one 
complete turn and the dance was coming toward an 
end. 

It was he who spoke first, gloomily: “I shouldn’t 
have done it; I shouldn’t have tagged him!” 

At this she drew back a little so that she could 
meet his eyes. 

“Why not?” 

“The whole crew will be on my trail.” 

“What crew?” 

“Beginning with Lord Nick!” 

This shook her completely out of the thrall of 
the dance. 

“Lord Nick? What makes you think that?” 

“I know he’s thick with Landis. It’ll mean trou¬ 
ble.” 

He was so simple about it that she began to laugh. 
It was not such a voice as Lou Macon’s. It was 
high and light, and one could suspect that it might 
become shrill under a stress. 

“And yet it looks as though you’ve been hunting 
trouble,” she said. 

“I couldn’t help it,” said Donnegan naively. 

It was a very subtle flattery, this frankness from 
a man who had puzzled all The Corner. Nelly 
Lebrun felt that she was about to look behind the 
scenes and she tingled with delight. 


i 5 o 


DONNEGAN 


“Tell me,” she said. “Why not?” 

“Well,” said Donnegan, “I had to make a noise 
because I wanted to be noticed.” 

She glanced about her; every eye was upon them. 

“You’ve made your point,” she murmured. “The 
whole town is talking of nothing else.” 

“I don’t care an ounce of lead about the rest of 
the town.” 

“Then-” 

She stopped abruptly, seeing toward what he was 
tending. And the heart of Nelly Lebrun fluttered 
for the first time in many a month. She believed 
him implicitly. It was for her sake that he had made 
all this commotion; to draw her attention. For 
every lovely girl, no matter how cool-headed, has a 
foolish belief in the power of her beauty. As a 
matter of fact Donnegan had told her the truth. 
It had all been to win her attention, from the fight 
for the mint to the tagging for the dance. How 
could she dream that it sprang out of anything other 
than a wild devotion to her? And while Donnegan 
coldly calculated every effect, Nelly Lebrun began 
to see in him the man of a dream, a spirit out of 
a dead age, a soul of knightly, reckless chivalry. 
In that small confession he cast a halo about him¬ 
self which no other hand could ever remove entirely 
so far as Nelly Lebrun was concerned. 

“You understand?” he was saying quietly. 

She countered with a question as direct as his 
confession. 

“What are you, Mr. Donnegan?” 

“A wanderer,” said Donnegan instantly, “and an 
avoider of work.” 

At that they laughed together. The strain was 
broken and in its place there was a mutual excite- 



HE DANCES 


151 

ment. She saw Landis in the distance watching their 
laughter with a face contorted with anger, but it 
only increased her unreasoning happiness. 

“Mr„ Donnegan, let me give you friendly advice. 
I like you; I know you have courage; and I saw you 
meet Scar-faced Lewis. But if I were you Fd 
leave The Corner to-night and never come back. 
You’ve set every man against you. You’ve stepped 
on the toes of Landis and he’s a big man here. And 
even if you were to prove too much for Jack you’d 
come against Lord Nick, as you say yourself. Do 
you know Nick?” 

“No” 

“Then, Mr. Donnegan, leave The Corner!” 

The music, ending, left them face to face as he 
dropped his arm from about her. And she could 
appreciate now, for the first time, that he was 
smaller than he had seemed at a distance, or while 
he was dancing. He seemed a frail figure indeed 
to face the entire banded Corner—and Lord Nick. 

“Don’t you see,” said Donnegan, “that I can’t 
stop now?” 

There was a double meaning that sent her color 
flaring. 

He added in a low, tense voice. “I’ve gone too 
far. Besides, I’m beginning to hope!” 

She paused, then made a little gesture qf abandon. 

“Then stay, stay!” she whispered with eyes on 
fire. “And good luck to you, Mr. Donnegan!” 


CHAPTER XXI 


HE STANDS IN PERIL 

A S they went back, toward Nelly’s table, where 
Jack Landis was trying to appear carelessly at 
ease, the face of Donnegan was pale. One might 
have thought that excitement and fear caused his 
pallor; but as a matter of fact it was in him an 
unfailing sign of happiness and success. Landis had 
manners enough to rise as they approached. He 
found himself being presented to the smaller man. 
He heard the cool, precise voice of Donnegan ac¬ 
knowledging the introduction; and then the red¬ 
headed man went back to his table and his negro; 
and Jack Landis was alone with Nelly Lebrun again. 

He scowled at her, and she tried to look repentant; 
but since she could not keep the dancing light out of 
his eyes, she compromised by looking steadfastly 
down at the table. Which convinced Landis that 
she was thinking of her late partner. He made a 
great effort, swallowed, and was able to speak 
smoothly enough. 

“Looked as if you were having a pretty good time 
with that—tramp.” 

The color in her cheeks was anger; Landis took 
it for shame. 

“He dances beautifully,” she replied. 

“Yeh; he’s pretty smooth. Take a gent like that, 
it’s hard for a girl to see through him.” 

“Let’s not talk about him, Jack.” 

“All right. Is he going to dance with you again?” 
“I promised him the third dance after this.” 

For a time Landis could not trust his voice. 


HE STANDS IN PERIL 


153 


Then: “Kind of sorry about that. Because I’ll be 
going home before then.” 

At this she raised her eyes for the first time. He 
was astonished and a little horrified to see that she 
was not in the least flustered, but very angry. 

“You’ll go home before I have a chance for that 
dance?” she asked. “You’re acting like a two-year- 
old, Jack. You are!” 

He flushed. Burning would be too easy a death 
for Donnegan. 

“He’s making a laughingstock out of me; look 
around the room!” 

“Nobody’s thinking about you at all, Jack. You’re 
just self-conscious.” 

Of course, it was pouring acid upon an open 
wound. But she was past the point of caution. 

“Maybe they ain’t,” said Landis, controlling his 
rage. “I don’t figure that I amount to much. But 
I rate myself as high as a skunk like him!” 

It may have been a smile that she gave him. At 
any rate, he caught the glint of teeth, and her eyes 
were.as cold as steel points. If she had actually 
defended the stranger she would not have infuriated 
Landis so much. 

“Well, what does he say about himself?” 

“]Je says frankly that he’s a vagrant.” 

“And you don’t believe him?” 

She did not speak. 

“Makin’ a play for sympathy. Confound a man 
like that, I say!” 

Still she did not answer; and now Landis became 
alarmed. 

“D’you really like him, Nelly?” 

“I liked him well enough to introduce him to you, 
Jack.” 


154 


DONNEGAN 


*Tm sorry I talked so plain if you put it that 
way,” he admitted heavily. “I didn’t know you 
picked up friends so fast as all that!” He could 
not avoid adding this last touch of the poison point. 

His back was to Donnegan, and consequently the 
girl, facing him, could look straight across the room 
at the red-headed man. She allowed herself one 
brief glance, and she saw that he was sitting with 
his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, looking 
fixedly at her. It was the gaze of one who forgets 
all else and wraps himself in a dream. Other people 
in the room were noting that changeless stare and 
the whisper buzzed more and more loudly, but Don¬ 
negan had forgotten the rest of the world, it seemed. 
It was a very cunning piece of acting, not too much 
overdone, and once more the heart of Nelly Lebrun 
fluttered. 

She remembered that in spite of his frankness he 
had not talked with insolent presumption to her. He 
had merely answered her individual questions with 
an astonishing, childlike frankness. He had laid his 
heart before her, it seemed. And now he sat at a 
distance looking at her with the white, intense face 
of one who sees a dream. 

Nelly Lebrun was recalled by the heavy breathing 
of Jack Landis and she discovered that she had 
allowed her eyes to rest too long on the red-headed 
stranger. She had forgotten; her eyes had widened; 
and even Jack Landis was able to look into her 
mind and see things that startled him. For the first 
time he sensed that this was more than a careless 
flirtation. And he sat stiffly at the table, looking at 
her and through her with a fixed smile. Nelly, 
horrified, strove to cover her tracks. 

* “You’re right, Jack,” she said. “I—I think there 


HE STANDS IN PERIL 155 

was something brazen in the way he tagged you. 
And—let’s go home together!” 

Too late. The mind of Landis was not oversharp* 
but now jealousy gave it a point. He nodded his 
assent, and they got up, but there was no increase 
in his color. She read as plain as day in his face 
that he intended murder this night and Nelly was 
truly frightened. 

So she tried different tactics. All the way to 
the substantial little house which Lebrun had built 
at a little distance from the gambling hall, she kept 
up a running fire of steady conversation. But when 
she said good night to him, his face was still set. 
She had not deceived him. When he turned, she 
saw him go back into the night with long strides, 
and within half an hour she knew, as clearly as if 
she were remembering the picture instead of fore¬ 
seeing it, that Jack and Donnegan would face each 
other gun in hand on the floor of Milligan’s dance 
hall. 

Still, she was not foolish enough to run after 
Jack, take his arm, and make a direct appeal. It 
would be too much like begging for Donnegan, and 
even if Jack forgave her for this interest in his rival, 
she had sense enough to feel that Donnegan himself 
never would. Something, however, must be done to 
prevent the fight, and she took the straightest course. 

She went as fast as a run would carry her straight 
behind the intervening houses and came to the back 
entrance to the gaming hall. There she entered and 
stepped into the little office of her father. “Black” 
Lebrun was not there. She did not want him. In 
his place there sat The Pedlar and Joe Rix; they 
were members of Lord Nick’s chosen crew, and since 
Nick’s temporary alliance with Lebrun for the sake 


DONNEGAN 


*56 

of plundering Jack Landis, Nick’s men were Nelly’s 
men. Indeed, this was a formidable pair. They 
were the kind of men about whom many whispers 
and no facts circulate; and yet the facts are far 
worse than the whispers. It was said that Joe Rix, 
who was a fat little man with a great aversion to a 
razor and a pair of shallow, pale blue eyes, was in 
reality a merciless fiend. He was; and he was more 
than that, if there be a stronger superlative. If 
Lord Nick had dirty work to be done, there was 
the man who did it with a relish. The Pedlar, on 
the other hand, was an exact opposite. He was long, 
lean, raw-boned, and prodigiously strong in spite of 
his lack of-flesh. He had vast hands, all loose skin 
and outstanding tendons; he had a fleshless face over 
which his smile was capable of extending limitlessly. 
He was the sort of a man from whom one w^ould 
expect shrewdness, some cunning, stubbornness, a 
dry humor, and many principles. All of which, 
except the last, was true of The Pedlar. 

There was this peculiarity about The Pedlar. In 
spite of his broad grins and his wise, bright eyes, 
none, even of Lord Nick’s gang, extended a friend¬ 
ship or familiarity toward him. When they spoke 
of The Pedlar they never used his name. They re¬ 
ferred to him as “him” or they indicated him with 
gestures. If he had a fondness for any living crea¬ 
ture it was for fat Joe Rix. 

Yet on seeing this ominous pair, Nelly Lebrun 
cried out softly in delight. She ran to them, and 
dropped a hand on the bony shoulder of The Pedlar 
and one on the plump shoulder of Joe Rix, whose 
loose flesh rolled under her finger tips. 

“It’s Jack Landis!” she cried. “He’s gone to Mil¬ 
ligan’s to fight the new man. Stop him!” 


HE STANDS IN PERIL 


157 


“Donnegan ?” said Joe, and did not rise. 

“Him?” said The Pedlar, and moistened his broad 
lips like one on the verge of starvation. 

“Are you going to sit here?” she cried. “What 
will Lord Nick say if he finds out you’ve let Jack 
get into a fight.” 

“We ain’t nursin’ mothers,” declared The Pedlar. 
“But I’d kind of like to look on!” 

And he rose. Unkinking joint after joint, 
straightening his legs, his back, his shoulders, his 
neck, he soared up and up until he stood a prodigious 
height. The girl controlled a shudder of disgust. 

“Joe!” she appealed. 

“You want us to clean up Donnegan?” he asked, 
rising, but without interest in his voice. 

To his surprise, she slipped back to the door and 
blocked it with her outcast arms. 

“Not a hair of his head!” she said fiercely. 
“Swear that you won’t harm him, boys!” 

“What the devil!” ejaculated Joe, who was a blunt 
man in spite of his fat. “You want us to keep 
Jack from fightin’, but you don’t want us to hurt 
the other gent. What you want? Hog-tie ’em 
both?” 

“Yes, yes; keep Jack out of Milligan’s; but for 
Heaven’s sake don’t try to put a hand on Donnegan.” 

“Why not?” 

“'For your sakes; he’d kill you, Joe!” 

At this they both gaped in unison, and as one 
man they drawled in vast admiration: “Good heav¬ 
ens!” 

“But go, go, go!” cried the girl. 

And she shoved them through the door and into 
the night. 


CHAPTER XXII 

HE RECEIVES A BLOW 

T O the people in Milligan’s it had been most in- 
chedible that Jack Landis should withdraw 
from a competition of any sort. And though the 
girls were able to understand his motives in taking 
Nelly Lebrun away they were not able to explain 
this fully to their men companions. For one and all 
they admitted that Jack was imperiling his hold on 
the girl in question if he allowed her to stay near 
this red-headed fiend. But one and all they swore 
that Jack Landis had ruined himself with her by 
taking her away. And this was a paradox which 
made masculine heads in The Corner spin. The 
main point was that big Jack Landis had backed 
down before a rival; and this fact was stunning 
enough. Donnegan, however, was not confused. 
He sent big George to ask Milligan to come to him 
for a moment. 

Milligan, at this, cursed George for a “no-good 
nigger,” but he was drawn by curiosity to consent. 
A moment later he was seated at Donnegan’s table, 
drinking his own liquor as it was served to him from 
the hands of the negro. If the first emotion of the 
dance-hall proprietor were anger and intense curi¬ 
osity, his second emotion was that never-failing sur¬ 
prise, which all who came close to the wanderer felt. 
For he had that rare faculty of seeming larger when 
in action, even when actually near much bigger, men. 
Only when one came close to Donnegan one stepped, 


HE RECEIVES A BLOW 


159 


as it were, through a veil, and saw the almost fragile 
reality. When Milligan had caught his breath and 
adjusted himself, he began as follows: 

“Now, Bud/’ he said, “you’ve made a pretty play. 
Not bad at all. But no more bluffs in Milligan’s.” 

“Bluff!” Donnegan repeated gently. 

“About the nigger. I let it pass for one night, 
but not for another.” 

“My dear Mr. Milligan! However”—changing 
the subject easily—“what I wish to speak to you 
about is a bit of trouble which I foresee. I think, 
sir, that Jack Landis is coming back.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“It’s a feeling I have. I have queer premonitions, 
Mr. Milligan. I’m sure he’s coming and I’m sure 
he’s going to attempt a murder.” 

Milligan’s thick lips framed his question but he did 
not speak; fear made his face ludicrous. 

“Right here?” 

“Yes.” 

“A shootin’ scrape here! You?” 

“He has me in mind. That’s why I’m speaking 
to you.” 

“Don’t wait to speak to me about it. Get up 
and get out!” 

“Mr. Milligan, you’re wrong. I’m going to stay 
here, and you’re going to protect me.” 

“Well, confound your soul! They ain’t much 
nerve about you, is there?” 

“You run a public place. You have to protect 
your patrons from insult.” 

“And who began it, then? Who started walkin’ 
on Jack’s toes? Now you come whinin’ to me! 
By heck, I hope Jack gets you!” 


i6o 


DONNEGAN 


“You’re a genial soul,” said Donnegan. “Here’s 
to you!” 

But something in his smile as he sipped his liquor 
made Milligan sit straighter in his chair. 

As for Donnegan, he was thinking hard and fast. 
If there were a shooting affair and he won, he 
would nevertheless run a close chance of being hung 
by a mob. He must dispose that mob to look upon 
him as the defendant and Landis as the aggressor. 
He had foreseen the crisis until it was fairly upon 
him. He had thought of Nelly playing Landis along 
more gradually and carefully, so that, while he was 
slowly learning that she was growing cold to him, 
he would have a chance to grow fond of Lou Macon 
once more. But even across the width of the 
room he had seen the girl fire up, and from that 
moment he knew the result. Landis already sus¬ 
pected him; Landis, with the feeling that he had 
been robbed, would do his best to kill the thief. He 
might take a chance with Landis, if it came to a 
fight, just as he had taken a chance with Lewis. 
But how different this case would be! Landis was 
no dull-nerved ruffian and drunkard. He was a keen 
boy with a hair-trigger balance, and in a gunplay 
he would be apt to beat the best of them all. Of 
all this Donnegan was fully aware. Either he must 
place his own life in terrible hazard or else he must 
shoot to kill; and if he killed, what of Lou Macon? 

While he smiled into the face of Milligan, per¬ 
spiration was bursting out under his armpits. 

“Mr. Milligan, I implore you to give me your aid.” 

“What’s the difference?” Milligan asked in a 
changed tone. “If he don’t fight you here he’ll 
fight you later.” 

“You’re wrong, Mr. Milligan. He isn’t the sort 


HE RECEIVES A BLOW 


161 


to hold malice. He’ll come here to-night and try to 
get at me like a bulldog straining on a leash. If 
he is kept away he’ll get over his bad temper. ,, 

Milligan pushed back his chair. 

“You’ve tried to force yourself down the throat 
of The Corner,” he said, “and now you yell for 
help when you see the teeth.” 

He had raised his voice. Now he got up and 
strode noisily away. Donnegan waited until he was 
halfway across the dance floor and then rose in turn, 

“Gentlemen,” he said. 

The quiet voice cut into every conversation; the 
musicians lowered the instruments. 

“I have just told Mr. Milligan that I am sure 
Jack Landis is coming back here to try to kill me. 
I have asked for his protection. He has refused it. 
I intend to stay here and wait for him, Jack Landis. 
In the meantime I ask any able-bodied man who will 
do so, to try to stop Landis when he enters.” 

He sat down, raised his glass, and sipped the 
drink. Two hundred pairs of eyes were fastened 
with hawklike intensity upon him, and they could 
perceive no quiver of his hand. 

The sipping of his liquor was not an affectation. 
For he was drinking, at incredible cost, liquors from 
Milligan’s bootlegged store of rareties. They had 
traveled an underground route to come to Milligan’s 
and he put a comfortable tax upon the prohibited 
liquor. 

The effect of Donnegan’s announcement was first 
a silence,- then a hum, then loud voices of protest, 
curiosity—and finally a scurrying toward the doors. 

Yet really very few, outside of women, left. The 
rest valued a chance to see the fight beyond fear of 
random slugs of lead which might fly their way. 


DONNEGAN 


162 

Besides, where such men as Donnegan and big 
Jack Landis were concerned, there was not apt to 
be much wild shooting. The dancing stopped, of 
course. The music was ordered by Milligan to play, 
in a frantic endeavor to rouse custom again; but 
the music of its own accord fell away in the middle 
of the piece. For the musicians could not watch the 
notes and the door at the same time. 

As for Donnegan, he found that it was one thing 
to wait and another to be waited for. He, too, 
wished to turn and watch that door until it should 
be filled by the bulk of Jack Landis. Yet he fought 
the desire. 

And in the midst of this torturing suspense an 
idea came to him, and at the same instant Jack 
Landis entered the doorway. He stood there look¬ 
ing vast against the night. One glance around was 
sufficient to teach him the meaning of the silence. 
The stage was set, and the way opened to Donnegan. 
Without a word, big George stole to one side. 

Straight to the middle of the dance floor went 
Jack Landis, red-faced, with long, heavy steps. He 
faced Donnegan. 

“You skunk!” shouted Landis. “I’ve come for 
you!” 

And he went for his gun. Donnegan, too, stirred. 
But when the revolver leaped into the hand of 
Landis, it was seen that the hands of Donnegan rose 
past the line of his waist, past his shoulders, and 
presently locked easily behind his head. A terrible 
chance, for Landis had come within a breath of 
shooting. So great was the impulse that, as he 
checked the pressure of his forefinger, he stumbled 
a whole pace forward. He v/alked on. 

“You need cause to fight?” he cried, striking Don- 


HE RECEIVES A BLOW 163 

negan across the face with the back of his left hand, 
jerking up the muzzle of the gun in his right. 

Now a dark trickle was seen to come from the 
broken lips of Donnegan, yet he was smiling faintly. 

Jack Landis muttered a curse and said sneeringly: 
“Are you afraid?” 

There were sick faces in that room; men turned 
their heads, for nothing is so ghastly as the sight 
of a man who is taking water. 

“Hush,” said Donnegan. “I’m going to kill you, 
Jack. But I want to kill you fairly and squarely. 
There’s no pleasure, you see, in beating a youngster 
like you to the draw. I want to give you a fighting 
chance. Besides”—he removed one hand from be¬ 
hind his head and waved it carelessly to where the 
men of The Corner crouched in the shadow—“you 
people have seen me drill one chap already, and I’d 
like to shoot you in a new way. Is that agreeable?” 

Two terrible, known figures detached themselves 
from the gloom near the door. 

“Hark to this gent sing,” said one, and his name 
was The Pedlar. “Hark to him sing, Jack, and 
we’ll see that you get fair play.” 

“Good,” said his friend, Joe Rix. “Let him take 
his try, Jack.” 

As a matter of fact, had Donnegan reached for 
a gun, he would have been shot before even Landis 
could bring out a weapon, for the steady eye of 
Joe Rix, hidden behind The Pedlar, had been look¬ 
ing down a revolver barrel at the forehead of Don¬ 
negan, waiting for that first move. But something 
about the coolness of Donnegan fascinated them. 

“Don’t shoot, Joe,” The Pedlar had said. “That 
bird is the chief over again. Don’t plug him!” 

And that was why Donnegan lived. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


HE FIGHTS 

I F he had taken the eye of the hardened Rix and 
the still harder Pedlar, he had stunned the men 
of The Corner. And breathlessly they waited for 
his proposal to Jack Landis. 

He spoke with his hands behind his head again, 
after he had slowly taken out a handkerchief and 
wiped his chin. 

“Pm a methodical fellow, Landis,” he said. "I 
hate to do an untidy piece of work. I have been 
disgusted with myself since my little falling out 
with Lewis. I intended to shoot him cleanly through 
the hand, but instead of that I tore up his whole 
forearm. Sloppy work, Landis. I don't like it. 
Now, in meeting you : I want to do a clean, neat, 
precise job. One that I’ll be proud of.” 

A moaning voice was heard faintly in the distance. 
It was The Pedlar, who had wrapped himself in his 
gaunt arms and was crooning softly, with unspeak¬ 
able joy: “Hark to him sing! Hark to him sing! 
A ringer for the chief!” 

“Why should we be in such a hurry?” continued 
Donnegan. “You see that clock in the corner? Tut, 
tut! Turn your head and look. Do you think I’ll 
drop you while you look around?” 

Landis flung one glance over his shoulder at the 
big clock, whose pendulum worked solemnly back 
and forth. 

“In five minutes,” said Donnegan, “it will be 


HE FIGHTS 


165 

eleven o’clock. And when it’s eleven o’clock the 
clock will chime. Now, Landis, you and I shall sit 
down here like gentlemen and drink our liquor and 
think our last thoughts. Heavens, man, is there 
anything more disagreeable than being hurried out of 
life? But when the clock chimes, we draw our guns 
and shoot each other through the heart—the brain 
—wherever we have chosen. But, Landis, if one of 
us should inadvertently—or through nervousness— 
beat the clock’s chime by the split part of a second, 
the good people of The Corner will fill that one 
of us promptly full of lead.” 

He turned to the crowd. 

“Gentlemen, is it a good plan?” 

As well as a Roman crowd if it wanted to see a 
gladiator die, the frayed nerves of The Corner re¬ 
sponded to the stimulus of this delightful entertain¬ 
ment. There was a joyous chorus of approval. 

“When the clock strikes, then,” said Landis, and 
flung himself down in a chair, setting his teeth over 
his rage. 

Donnegan smiled benevolently upon him; then he 
turned again and beckoned to the negro. Big 
George strode closer and leaned. 

“George,” he said, “I’m not going to kill this 
fellow.” 

“No, sir; certainly, sir,” whispered the other. 
“George can kill him for you, sir.” 

Donnegan smiled wanly. 

“I’m not going to kill him, George, on account 
of the girl on the hill. You know? And the reason 
is that she’s fond of the lubber. I’ll try to break 
his nerve, George, and drill him through the arm, 
say. No, I can’t take chances like that. But if I 


i66 


DONNEGAN 


have him shaking in time, I’ll shoot him through the 
right shoulder, George. 

“But if I miss and he gets me instead, mind you, 
never raise a hand against him. If you so much 
as touch his skin, I’ll rise out of my grave and haunt 
you white. You hear? Good-by, George.” 

But big George withdrew without a word, and 
the reason for his speechlessness was the glistening 
of his eyes. 

“If I live,” said Donnegan, ‘Til show that George 
that I appreciate him.” 

He went on aloud to Landis: “So glum, my boy? 
Tush! We have still four minutes left. Are you 
going to spend your last four minutes hating me?” 

He turned: “Another liqueur, George. Two of 
them.” 

The negro brought the drinks, and having put one 
on the table of Donnegan, he was directed to take 
the other to Landis. 

“It’s really good stuff,” said Donnegan. “I’m 
not an expert on these matters; but I like the taste. 
Will you try it?” 

It seemed that Landis dared not trust himself to 
speech. As though a vast and deadly hatred were 
gathered in him, and he feared lest it should escape 
in words the first time he parted his teeth. 

He took the glass of liqueur and slowly poured 
it upon the floor. From the crowd there was a 
deep murmur of disapproval. And Landis, feeling 
that he had advanced the wrong foot in the matter, 
glowered scornfully about him and then stared once 
more at Donnegan. 

“Just as you please,” said Donnegan, sipping his 
glass. “But remember this, my young friend, that a 
fool is a fool, drunk or sober.” 


HE FIGHTS 


167 


Landis showed his teeth, but made no other an¬ 
swer. And Donnegan anxiously flashed a glance at 
the clock. He still had three minutes. Three min¬ 
utes in which he must reduce this stalwart fellow to 
a trembling, nervous wreck. Otherwise, he must 
shoot to kill, or else sit there and become a certain 
sacrifice for the sake of Lou Macon. Yet he con¬ 
trolled the muscles of his face and was still able to 
smile as he turned again to Landis. 

“Three minutes left,” he said. “Three minutes 
for you to compose yourself, Landis. Think of it, 
man! All the good life behind you. Have you 
nothing to remember? Nothing to soften your 
mind? Why die, Landis, with a curse in your heart 
and a scowl on your lips?” 

Once more Landis stirred his lips; but there was 
only the flash of his teeth; he maintained his reso¬ 
lute silence. 

“Ah,” murmured Donnegan, “I am sorry to see 
this. And before all your admirers, Landis. Before 
all your friends. Look at them scattered there under 
the lights and in the shadows. No farewell word 
for them? Nothing kindly to say? Are you going 
to leave them without a syllable of goodfellowship ?” 

“Confound you!” muttered Landis. 

There was another hum from the crowd; it was 
partly wonder, partly anger. Plainly they were not 
pleased with Jack Landis on this day. 

Donnegan shook his head sadly. 

“I hoped,” he said, “that I could teach you how 
to die. But I fail. And yet you should be grateful 
to me for one thing, Jack. I have kept you from 
being a murderer in cold blood. I kept you from 
killing a defenseless man as you intended to do when 
you walked up to me a moment ago.” 


DONNEGAN 


168 

He smiled genially in mockery, and there was a 
scowl on the face of Landis. 

“Two minutes,” said Donnegan. 

Leaning back in his chair, he yawned. For a 
whole minute he did not stir. 

“One minute?” he murmured inquisitively. 

And there was a convulsive shudder through the 
limbs of Landis. It was the first sign that he was 
breaking down under the strain. There remained 
only one minute in which to reduce him to a nervous 
wreck! 

The strain was telling in other places. Donnegan 
turned and saw in the shadow and about the edges 
of the room a host of drawn, tense faces and burn¬ 
ing eyes. Never while they lived would they forget 
that scene. 

“And now that the time is close,” said Donnegan, 
“I must look to my gun.” 

He made a gesture; how it was, no one was swift 
enough of eye to tell, but a gun appeared in his 
hand. At the flash of it, Landis’ weapon leaped up 
to the mark and his face convulsed. But Donnegan 
calmly spun the cylinder of his revolver and held it 
toward Landis, dangling from his forefinger under 
the guard. 

“You see?” he said to Landis. “Clean as a 
whistle, and easy as a girl’s smile. I hate a stiff 
action, Jack.” 

And Landis slowly allowed the muzzle of his own 
gun to sink. For the first time his eyes left the eyes 
of Donnegan, and sinking, inch by inch, stared fas¬ 
cinated at the gun in the hand of the enemy. 

“Thirty seconds,” said Donnegan by way of con¬ 
versation. 

Landis jerked up his head and his eyes 


once 


HE FIGHTS 


169 


more met the eyes of Donnegan, but this time they 
were wide, and the pointed glance of Donnegan sank 
into them. The lips of Landis parted. His tongue 
tremblingly moistened them. ^ 

“Keep your nerve,” said Donnegan in an under¬ 
tone. 

“You hound!” gasped Landis. 

“I knew it,” said Donnegan sadly. “You’ll die 
with a curse on your lips.” 

He added: “Ten seconds, Landis!” 

And then he achieved his third step toward vic¬ 
tory, for Landis jerked his head around, saw the 
minute hand almost upon its mark, and swung back 
with a shudder toward Donnegan. From the crowd 
there was a deep breath. 

And then Landis was seen to raise the muzzle of 
his gun again, and crouch over it, leveling it straight 
at Donnegan. He, at least, would send his bullet 
straight to the mark when that first chime went 
humming through the big room. 

But Donnegan? He made his last play to shatter 
the nerve of Landis. With the minute hand on the 
very mark, he turned carelessly, the revolver still 
dangling by the trigger guard, and laughed toward 
the crowd. 

And out of the crowd there came a deep, sobbing 
breath of heart-breaking suspense. 

It told on Landis. Out of the corner of his eye 
Donnegan saw the muscles of the big man’s face 
sag and tremble; saw him allow his gun to fall, in 
imitation of Donnegan to his side; and saw the long 
arm quivering. 

And then the chime rang, with a metalic, sharp 
click and then a long and reverberant clanging. 

With a gasp Landis whipped up his gun and fired. 


170 


DONNEGAN 


Once, twice, again, the weapon crashed. And, to 
the eternal wonder of all who saw it, at a distance 
of five paces Landis three times missed his man. 
But Donnegan, sitting back with a smile, raised his 
own gun almost with leisure, unhurried, dropped it 
upon the mark, and sent a forty-five slug through 
the right shoulder of Jack Landis. 

The blow of the slug, Ike the punch of a strong 
man’s fist, knocked the victim out of his chair to the 
floor. He lay clutching at his shoulder. 

“Gentlemen,” said Donnegan, rising, “is there a 
doctor here?” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


HE SEES THE DEVIL AGAIN 

T HAT was the signal for the rush that swept 
across the floor and left a flood of marveling 
men around the fallen Landis. On the outskirts of 
this tide, Donnegan stepped up to two men, Joe Rix 
and The Pedlar. They greeted him with expectant 
glances. 

“Gentlemen,” said Donnegan, “will you step 
aside?” 

They followed him to a distance from the clamor¬ 
ing group. 

“I have to thank you,” said Donnegan. 

“For what?” 

“For changing your minds,” said Donnegan, and 
left them. 

And afterward The Pedlar murmured with an 
oddly twisted face: “Cat-eye, Joe. He can see in the 
dark! But I told you he was worth savin’.” 

“Speakin’ in general,” said Joe, “which you ain’t 
hardly ever wrong when you get stirred up about 
a thing.” 

“He’s something new,” The Pedlar said wisely. 
“Ay, he’s rare.” 

“But talkin’ aside, suppose he was to meet up 
with Lord Nick?” 

The smile of Joe Rix was marvelously evil. 

“You got a great mind for great things,” he 
declared. “You ought to of been in politics.” 

In the meantime the doctor had been found. The 


DONNEGAN 


172 

wound had been cleansed. It was a cruel one, for 
the bullet had torn its way through flesh and sinew, 
and for many a week the fighting arm of Jack 
Landis would be useless. It had, moreover, carried 
a quantity of cloth into the wound, and it was al¬ 
most impossible to cleanse the hole satisfactorily. 
As for the bullet itself, it had whipped cleanly 
through, at that short distance making nothing of 
its target. 

A door was knocked off its hinges. But before 
the wounded man was placed upon it, Lebrun ap¬ 
peared at the door into Milligan’s. He was never 
a very cheery fellow in appearance, and now he 
looked like a demoniac. He went straight to Joe 
Rix and the skeleton form of The Pedlar. He 
raised one finger as he looked at them. 

“Eve heard,” said Lebrun. “Lord Nick likewise 
shall hear.” 

Joe Rix changed color. He bustled about, to¬ 
gether with The Pedlar, and lent a hand in carrying 
the wounded man to the house of Lebrun, for Nelly 
Lebrun was to be the nurse of Landis. 

In the meantime, Donnegan went up the hill with 
big George behind him. Already he was a sinisterly 
marked man. Working through the crowd near 
Lebrun’s gambling hall, a drunkard in the midst of 
a song stumbled against him. But the sight of the 
man with whom he had collided, sobered him as 
swiftly as the lash of a whip across his face. It 
was impossible for him, in that condition, to grow 
pale. But he turned a vivid purple. 

“Sorry, Mr. Donnegan.” 

Donnegan, with a shrug of his shoulders, passed 
on. The crowd split before him, for they had heard 
his name. There were brave men, he knew, among 


HE SEES THE DEVIL AGAIN 


173 


them. Men who would fight to the last drop of 
blood rather than be shamed, but they shrank from 
Donnegan without shame, as they would have 
shrunk from the coming of a rattler had their feet 
been bare. So he went easily through the crowd 
with big George in his wake, walking proudly. 

For George was making large discoveries, among 
which not the least was the fact that it might be a 
far prouder thing to be the servant of one man 
than to be free himself. He had stood to one side 
and watched Donnegan indomitably beat down the 
will of Jack Landis, and the sight would live in the 
mind of George forever. Indeed, if his master had 
bidden the sun to stand in the heavens, the big 
negro would have looked for obedience. That the 
forbearance of Donnegan should have been based 
on a desire to serve a girl certainly upset the mind 
of George, but it taught him an amazing thing— 
that Donnegan was capable of affection. 

The terrible Donnegan went on. In his wake the 
crowd closed slowly, for many had paused to look 
after the little man. Until they came to the out¬ 
skirts of the town and climbed the hill toward the 
two shacks. The one was, of course, dark. But 
the shack in which Lou Macon lived burst with 
light. Donnegan paused to consider this miracle. 
He listened, and he heard voices—the voice of a 
man, laughing loudly. Thinking something was 
wrong, he hurried forward and called loudly. 

What he saw when he was admitted made him 
speechless. Colonel Macon, ensconced in his invalid 
chair, faced the door, and near him was Lou Macon. 
Lou rose, half frightened by the unexpected inter¬ 
ruption, but the liquid laughter of the colonel set 
all to rights at once. 


i74 


DONNEGAN 


“Come in, Donnegan. Come in, lad/’ said the 
colonel. 

“I heard a man’s voice,” Donnegan said half 
apologetically. The sick color began to leave his 
face, and relief swept over it slowly. “I thought 
something might be wrong. I didn’t think of you.” 
And looking down, as all men will in moments of 
relaxation from a strain, he did not see the eyes of 
Lou Macon grow softly luminous as they dwelt upon 
him. 

“Come in, George,” went on the colonel, “and 
make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. Close the 
door. Sit down, Donnegan. When your letter came 
I saw that I was needed here. Lou, have you looked 
into our friend’s cabin? No? Nothing like a 
woman’s touch to give a man the feeling of home¬ 
liness, Lou. Step over to Donnegan’s cabin and 
put it to rights. Yes, I know that George takes 
care of it, but George is one thing, and your care 
will be another. Besides, I must be alone with 
him for a moment. Man talk confuses a girl, Lou. 
You shouldn’t listen to it.” 

She withdrew with that faint, dreamy smile with 
which she so often heard the instructions of her 
father; as though she were only listening with half 
of her mind. When she was gone, though the door 
to the kitchen stood wide open, and big George was 
in it, the colonel lowered his bass voice so success¬ 
fully that it was as safe as being alone with Donne¬ 
gan. 

“And now for facts,” he began. 

“But,” said Donnegan, “how—that chair—how in 
the world have you come here?” 

The colonel shook his head. 

“My dear boy, you grieve and disappoint me. The 


HE SEES THE DEVIL AGAIN 


175 


manner in which a thing is done is not important. 
Mysteries are usually simply explained. As for my 
small mystery—a neighbor on the way to The Corner 
with a wagon stopped in, and I asked him to take 
me along. So here I am. But now for your work 
here, lad?” 

“Bad,” said Donnegan. 

“I gathered you had been unfortunate. And now 
you have been fighting?” 

“You have heard?” 

“I see it in your eye, Donnegan. When a man 
has been looking fear in the face for a time, an 
image of it remains in his eyes. They are wider, 
glazed with the other thing.” 

“It was forced on me,” said Donnegan. “I have 
shot Landis.” 

He was amazed to see the colonel was vitally af¬ 
fected. His lips remained parted over his next 
word, and one eyelid twitched violently. But the 
spasm passed over quickly. When he raised his 
perfect hands and pressed them together just under 
his chin. He smiled in a most winning manner that 
made the blood of Donnegan run cold. 

“Donnegan,” he said softly, “I see that I have 
misjudged you. I underestimated you. I thought, 
indeed, that your rare qualities were qualified by 
painful weaknesses. But now I see that you are a 
man, and from this moment we shall act together 
with open minds. So you have done it? Tush, then 
I need not have taken my trip. The work is done; 
the mines come to me as the heir of Jack. And yet, 
poor boy, I pity him! He misjudged me; he should 
not have ventured to this deal with Lord Nick and 
his compatriots!” 


176 


DONNEGAN 


“Wait,” exclaimed Donnegan. “You’re wrong; 
Landis is not dead.” 

Once more the colonel was checked, but this time 
the alteration in his face was no more than a com¬ 
ma’s pause in a long balanced sentence. It was 
impossible to obtain more than one show of emotion 
from him in a single conversation. 

“Not dead? Well, Donnegan, that is unfortunate. 
And after you had punctured him you had no chance 
to send home the finishing shot?” 

Donnegan merely watched the colonel and tapped 
his bony finger against the point of his chin. 

“Ah,” murmured the colonel, “I see another pos¬ 
sibility. It is almost as good—it may even be better 
than his death. You have disabled him, and having 
done this you at once take him to a place where he 
shall be under your surveillance—this, in fact, is a 
very comfortable outlook—for me and my interests. 
But for you, Donnegan, how the devil do you bene¬ 
fit by having Jack flat on his back, sick, helpless, and 
in a perfect position to excite all the sympathies of 
Lou?” 

Now, Donnegan had known cold-blooded men in 
his day, but that there existed such a man as the 
colonel had never come into his mind. He looked 
upon the colonel, therefore, with neither disgust nor 
anger, but with a distant and almost admiring won¬ 
der. For perfect evil always wins something akin 
to admiration from more common people. 

“Well,” continued the colonel, a little uneasy under 
this silent scrutiny—silence was almost the only 
thing in the world that could trouble him—“well, 
Donnegan, my lad, this is your plan, is it not?” 

“To shoot down Landis, then take possession of 
him and while I nurse him back to health hold a 


HE SEES THE DEVIL AGAIN 


177 . 

gun—metaphorically speaking—to his head and make 
him do as I please: sign some lease, say, of the 
mines to you?” 

The colonel shifted himself to a more comfortable 
position in his chair, brought the tips of his fingers 
together under his vast chin, and smiled benevolently 
upon Donnegan. 

“It is as I thought,” he murmured. “Donnegan, 
you are rare; you are exquisite!” 

“And you,” said Donnegan, “are a scoundrel.” 

“Exactly. I am very base.” The colonel laughed. 
“You and I alone can speak with intimate knowl¬ 
edge of me.” His chuckle shook all his body, and 
set the folds of his face quivering. His mirth died 
away when he saw Donnegan come to his feet. 

“Eh?” he called. 

“Good-by,” said Donnegan. 

“But where—Landis- Donnegan, what devil 

is in your eye?” 

“A foolish devil, Colonel Macon. I surrender the 
benefits of all my work for you and go to make sure 
that you do not lay your hands upon Jack Landis.” 

The colonel opened and closed his lips foolishly 
like a fish gasping silently out of water. It was 
/are indeed for the colonel to appear foolish. 

“In Heaven's name, Donnegan!” 

The little man smiled. He had a marvelously 
wicked smile, which came from the fact that his lips 
could curve while his eyes remained bright and 
straight, and malevolently unwrinkled. He laid his 
hand on the knob of the door. 

“Donnegan,” cried the colonel, gray of face, “give 
me one minute.” 



CHAPTER XXV 


HE PASSES THROUGH THE FIRE 

D ONNEGAN stepped to a chair and sat down. 

He took out his watch and held it in his hand, 
studying the dial, and the colonel knew that his 
time limit was taken literally. 

“I swear to you,” he said, “that if you can help 
me to the possession of Landis while he is ill, I 
shall not lay a finger upon him or harm him in any 
way.” 

“You swear?” said Donnegan with that ugly 
smile. 

“My dear boy, do you think I am reckless enough 
to break a promise I have given to you?” 

The cynical glance of Donnegan probed the colonel 
to the heart, but the eyes of the fat man did not 
wince. Neither did he speak again, but the two 
calmly stared at each other. At the end of the min¬ 
ute, Donnegan slipped the watch into his pocket. 

“I am ready to listen to reason,” he said. And 
the colonel passed one of his strong hands across 
his forehead. 

“Now,” and he sighed, “I feel that the crisis is 
passed. With a man of your caliber, Donnegan, I 
fear a snap judgment above all things. Since you 
give me a chance to appeal to your reason I feel 
safe. As from the first, I shall lay my cards upon 
the table. You are fond of Lou. I took it for 
granted that you would welcome a chance to brush 
Landis out of your path. It appears that I am 


HE PASSES THROUGH THE FIRE 179 

wrong. I admit my error. Only fools cling to 
convictions; wise men are ready to meet new view¬ 
points. Very well. You wish to spare Landis for 
reasons of your own which I do not pretend to 
fathom. Perhaps, you pity him; I cannot tell. Now, 
you wonder why I wish to have Landis in my care 
if I do not intend to put an end to him and thereby 
become owner of his mines? I shall tell you frankly. 
I intend to own the mines, if not through the death 
of Jack, then through a legal act signed by the hand 
of Jack.” 

“A willing signature?” asked Donnegan, calmly. 

A shadow came and went across the face of the 
colonel, and Donnegan caught his breath. There 
were times when he felt that if the colonel pos¬ 
sessed strength of body as well as strength of mind 
even he, Donnegan, would be afraid of the fat man. 

“Willing or unwilling,” said the colonel, “he shall 
do as I direct!” 

“Without force?” 

“Listen to me,” said the colonel. “You and I 
are not children, and therefore we know that ordi¬ 
nary men are commanded rather by fear of what 
may happen to them than by being confronted with 
an actual danger. I have told you that I shall not 
so much as raise the weight of a finger against Jack 
Landis. I shall not. But a whisper adroitly put in 
his ear may accomplish the same ends.” He added 
with a smile. “Personally, I dislike physical vio¬ 
lence. In that, Mr. Donnegan, we belong to oppo¬ 
site schools of action.” 

The picture came to Donnegan of Landis, lying 
in the cabin of the colonel, his childish mind worked 
upon by the devilish insinuation of the colonel. 


i8o DONNEGAN 

Truly, if Jack did not go mad under the strain he 
would be very apt to do as the colonel wished. 

“I have made a mess of this from the beginning,” 
said Donnegan, quietly. “In the first place, I in¬ 
tended to play the role of the self-sacrificing. You 
don’t understand? I didn’t expect that you would. 
In short, I intended to send Landis back to Lou 
by making a flash that would dazzle The Corner, 
and dazzle Nelly Lebrun as well—win her away 
from Landis, you see? But the fool, as soon as he 
saw that I was flirting with the girl, lowered his 
head and charged at me like a bull. I had to strike 
him down in self-defense. 

“But now you ask me to put him wholly in your 
possession. Colonel, you omit one link in your chain 
of reasoning. The link is important—to me. What 
am I to gain by placing him within the range of 
your whispering?” 

“Tush! Do I need to tell you? I still presume 
you are interested in Lou, though you attempted to 
do so much to give Landis back to her. Well, Don¬ 
negan, you must know that when she learns it was 
a bullet from your gun that struck down Landis, 
she’ll hate you, my boy, as if you were a snake. 
But if she knows that after all you were forced into 
the fight, and that you took the first opportunity to 
bring Jack into my—er—paternal care—her senti¬ 
ments may change. No, they will change.” 

Donnegan left his chair and began to pace the 
floor. He was no more self-conscious in the pres¬ 
ence of the colonel than a man might be in the 
presence of his own evil instincts. And it was typi¬ 
cal of the colonel’s insight that he made no attempt 
to influence the decision of Donnegan after this 
point was reached. He allowed him to work out 


HE PASSES THROUGH THE FIRE 181 

the matter in his own way. At length, Donnegan 
paused. 

“What’s the next step?” he asked. 

The colonel sighed, and by that sigh he admitted 
more than words could tell. 

“A reasonable man,” he said, “is the delight of my 
heart. The next step, Donnegan, is to bring Jack 
Landis to this house.” 

“Tush!” said Donnegan. “Bring him away from 
Lebrun? Bring him away from the tigers of Lord 
Nick’s gang? I saw them at Milligan’s place to¬ 
night. A bad shot, Colonel Macon.” 

“A set you can handle,” said the colonel, calmly. 

“Ah?” 

“The danger will in itself be the thing that tempts 
you,” he went on. “To go among those fellows, 
wild as they are, and bring Jack Landis away to this 
house.” 

“Bring him here,” said Donnegan with indescrib¬ 
able bitterness, “so that she may pity his wounds? 
Bring him here where she may think of him and 
tend him and grow to hate me?” 

“Grow to fear you,” said the colonel. 

“An excellent thing to accomplish,” said Donne¬ 
gan coldly. 

“I have found it so,” remarked the colonel, and 
lighted a cigarette. 

He drew the smoke so deep that when it issued 
again from between his lips it was a most trans¬ 
parent, bluish vapor. Fear came upon Donnegan. 
Not fear, surely, of the fat man, helpless in his 
invalid’s chair, but fear of the mind working cease¬ 
lessly behind those hazy eyes. He turned without 
a word and went to the door. The moment it 
opened under his hand, he felt an hysterical impulse 


DONNEGAN 


182 

to leap out of the room swiftly and slam the door 
behind him—to put a bar between him and the eye 
of the colonel, just as a child leaps from the dark 
room into the lighted and closed the door quickly to 
keep out the following night. He had to' compel 
himself to move with proper dignity. 

When outside, he sighed; the quiet of the night 
was like a blessing compared with the ordeal of the 
colonel’s devilish coldness. Macon’s advice had 
seemed almost logical the moment before. Win Lou 
Macon by the power of fear, well enough, for was 
not fear the thing which she had followed all her 
life? Was it not through fear that the colonel him¬ 
self had reduced her to such abject, unquestioning 
obedience ? 

He went thoughtfully to his own cabin, and, down¬ 
headed in his musings, he became aware with a 
start of Lou Macon in the hut. She had changed 
the room as her father had bidden her to do. Just 
wherein the difference lay, Donnegan could not tell. 
There was a touch of evergreen in one corner; she 
had laid a strip of bright cloth over the rickety little 
table, and in ten minutes she had given the hut a 
semblance of permanent livableness. Donnegan saw 
her now, with some vestige of the smile of her art 
upon her face; but she immediately smoothed it to 
perfect gravity. He had never seen such perfect 
self-command in a woman. 

“Is there anything more that I can do?” she 
asked, moving toward the door. 

“Nothing.” 

“Good night.” 

“Wait.” 

She still seemed to be under the authority which 
the colonel had delegated to Donnegan when they 


HE PASSES THROUGH THE FIRE 183 

started for The Corner. She turned, and without 
a word came back to him. And a pang struck 
through Donnegan. What would he not have given 
if she had come at his call not with these dumb 
eyes, but with a spark of kindliness? Instead, she 
obeyed him as a soldier obeys a commander. 

“There has been trouble,” said Donnegan. 

“Yes?” she said, but there was no change in her 
face. 

“It was forced upon me.” Then he added: “It 
amounted to a shooting affair.” 

There was a change in her face now, indeed. A 
glint came in her eyes, and the suggestion of the 
colonel which he had once or twice before sensed in 
her, now became more vivd than ever before. The 
same contemptuous heartlessness, which was the 
colonel’s most habitual expression, now looked at 
Donnegan out of the lovely face of the girl. 

“They were fools to press you to the wall,” she 
said. “I have no pity for them.” 

For a moment Donnegan only stared at her; on 
what did she base her confidence in his prowess as a 
fighting man? 

“It was only one man,” he said huskily. 

Ah, there he had struck her home! As though 
the words were a burden, she shrank from him; then 
she slipped suddenly close to him and caught both his 
hands. Her head was raised far back; she had 
pressed close to him; she seemed in every line of her 
body to plead with him against himself, and all the 
veils which had curtained her mind from him 
dropped away. He found himself looking down into 
eyes full of fire and shadow; and eager lips; and the 
fiber of her voice made her whole body tremble. 


184 


DONNEGAN 


“It isn’t Jack?” she pleaded. “It isn’t Jack that 
you’ve fought with?” 

And he said to himself: “She loves him with all 
her heart and soul!” 

“It is he,” said Donnegan in an agony. Pain may 
be like a fire that tempers some strong men; and now 
Donnegan, because he was in torment, smiled, and 
his eye was as cold as steel. 

The girl flung away his hands. 

“You bought murderer!” she cried at him. 

“He is not dead.” 

“But you shot him down!” 

“He attacked me; it was self-defense.” 

She broke into a low-pitched, mirthless laughter. 
Where was the filmy-eyed girl he had known? The 
laughter broke off short—like a sob. 

“Don’t you suppose I’ve known?” she said. “That 
I’ve read my father? That I knew he was sending 
a bloodhound when he sent you? But, oh, I thought 
you had a touch of the other thing!” 

He cringed under her tone. 

“I’ll bring him to you,” said Donnegan desperately. 
“I’ll bring him here so that you can take care of 
him.” 

“You’ll take him away from Lord Nick—and Le¬ 
brun—and the rest?” And it was the cold smile of 
her father with which she mocked him. 

“I’ll do it.” 

“You play a deep game,” said the girl bitterly. 
“Why would you do it?” 

“Because,” said Donnegan faintly, “I love you.” 

Her hand had been on the knob of the door; now 
she twitched it open and was gone; and the last that 
Donnegan saw was the width of the startled eyes. 


HE PASSES THROUGH THE FIRE 185 


“As if I were a leper,” muttered Donnegan. “By 
Heaven, she looked at me as if I were unclean!” 

But once outside the door, the girl stood with 
both hands pressed to her face, stunned. When she 
dropped them, they folded against her breast, and 
her face tipped up. 

Even by starlight, had Donnegan been there to 
look, he would have seen the divinity which comes 
in the face of a woman when she loves. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


HE HUNTS TROUBLE 

H AD he been there to see, even in the darkness 
he would have known, and he could have 
crossed the distance between their lives with a single 
step, and taken her into his heart. But he did not 
see. He had thrown himself upon his bunk and lay 
face down, his arms stretched rigidly out before him, 
his teeth set, his eyes closed. 

For what Donnegan had wanted in the world, he 
had taken; by force when he could, by subtlety when 
he must. And now, what he wanted most of all 
was gone from him, he felt, forever. There was 
no power in his arms to take that part of her which 
he wanted; he had no craft which could encompass 
her. 

Big George, stealing into the room, wondered at 
the lithe, slender form of the master in the bed. 
Seeing him thus, it seemed that with the power of 
one hand, George could crush him. But George 
would as soon have closed his fingers over a rattler. 
He slipped away into the kitchen and sat with his 
arms wrapped around his body, as frightened as 
though he had seen a ghost. 

But Donnegan lay on the bed without moving 
for hours and hours, until big George, who sat 
wakeful and terrified all that time, was sure that the 
master slept. Then he stole in and covered Donne¬ 
gan with a blanket, for it was the chill, gray time 
of the night. 


HE HUNTS TROUBLE 


187 

But Donnegan was not asleep, and when George 
rose in the morning, he found the master sitting at 
the table with his arms folded tightly across his 
breast and his eyes burning into vacancy. 

He spent the day in that chair. 

It was the middle of the afternoon when George 
came with a scared face and a message that a “gen’- 
leman who looks riled, sir,” wanted to see him. 
There was no answer, and George perforce took 
the silence as acquiescence. So he opened the door 
and announced: “Mr. Lester to see you, sir.” 

Into the fiery haze of Donnegan’s vision stepped 
a raw-boned fellow with sandy hair and a disagree¬ 
ably strong jaw. 

“You're the gent that’s here with the colonel, ain’t 
you?” said Lester. 

Donnegan did not reply. 

“You’re the gent that cleaned up on Landis, ain’t 
you?” continued the sandy-haired man. 

There was still the same silence, and Lester burst 
out: “It don’t work, Donnegan. You’ve showed 
you’re man-sized several ways since you been in 
The Corner. Now I come to tell you to get out 
from under Colonel Macon. Why? Because he’s 
crooked, because we know he’s crooked; because he 
played crooked with me. You hear me talk?” 

Still Donnegan considered him without a word. 

“We’re goin’ to run him out, Donnegan. We 
want you on our side if we can get you; if we can’t 
get you, then we’ll run you out along with the 
colonel.” 

He began to talk with difficulty, as though Don- 
negan’s stare unnerved him. He even took a step 
back toward the door. 

“You can’t bluff me out, Donnegan. I ain’t alone. 


DONNEGAN 


188 

They’s others behind me. I don’t need to name no 
names. Here’s another thing: you ain’t alone your¬ 
self. You got a woman and a cripple on your 
hands. Now, Donnegan, you’re a fast man with a 
gun and you’re a fast man at thinkin’, but I ask you 
personal: have you got a chance runnin’ under that 
weight ?” 

He added fiercely: “I’m through. Now, talk tur¬ 
key, Donnegan, or you’re done!” 

For the first time Donnegan moved. It was to 
make to big George a significant signal with his 
thumb, indicating the visitor. However, Lester did 
not wait to be thrown bodily from the cabin. One 
enormous oath exploded from his lips, and he backed 
sullenly through the door and slammed it after him. 

“It kind of looks,” said big George, “like a war- 
sir.” 

And still Donnegan did not speak, until the after¬ 
noon was gone, and the evening, and the full black 
of the night had swallowed up the hills around The 
Corner. 

Then he left the chair, shaved, and dressed care¬ 
fully, looked to his revolver, stowed it carefully and 
invisibly away among his clothes, and walked lei¬ 
surely down the hill. An outbreak of cursing, stamp¬ 
ing, hair-tearing, shooting could not have affected big 
George as this quiet departure did. He followed, 
unordered, but as he stepped across the threshold of 
the hut he rolled up his eyes to the stars. 

“Oh, heavens above,” muttered George, “have 
mercy on Mr. Donnegan. He ain’t happy.” 

And he went down the hill, making sure that he 
was fit for battle with knife and gun. 

He had sensed Donnegan’s mental condition ac¬ 
curately enough. The heart of the little man was 


HE HUNTS TROUBLE 


189 


swelled to the point of breaking. A twenty-hour 
vigil had whitened his face, drawn in his cheeks, 
and painted his eyes with shadow; and now he 
wanted action. He wanted excitement, strife, com¬ 
petition; something to fill his mind. And naturally 
enough he had two places in mind—Lebrun’s and 
Milligan’s. 

It is hard to replace the state of Donnegan’s mind 
at this time. Chiefly, he was conscious of a peculiar 
and cruel pain that made him hollow; it was like 
homesickness raised to the nth degree. Vaguely he 
realized that in some way, somehow, he must fulfill 
his promise to the girl and bring Jack Landis home. 
The colonel dared not harm the boy for fear of 
Donnegan; and the girl would be happy. For that 
very reason Donnegan wanted to tear Landis to 
shreds. 

It is not extremely heroic for a man tormented 
with sorrow to go to a gambling hall and then to 
a dance hall to seek relief. But Donnegan was not 
a hero. He was only a man, and, since his heart 
was empty, he wanted something that might fill it. 
Indeed, like most men, suffering made him a good 
deal of a boy. 

So the high heels of Donnegan tapped across the 
floor of Lebrun’s. A murmur went before him 
whenever he appeared now, and a way opened for 
him. At the roulette wheel he stopped, placed 
fifty on the red, and watched it double three times. 
George, at a signal from the master, raked in the 
winnings. And Donnegan sat at a faro table and 
won again, and again rose disconsolately and went 
on. For when men do not care how luck runs 
it never fails to favor them. The devotees of for¬ 
tune are the ones she punishes. 


190 


DONNEGAN 


In the meantime the whisper ran swiftly through 
The Corner. 

“Donnegan is out hunting trouble.” 

About the good that is in men rumor often makes 
mistakes, but for evil she has an infallible eye and 
at once sets all of her thousand tongues wagging. 
Indeed, any man with half an eye could not fail to 
get the meaning of his fixed glance, his hard set 
jaw, and the straightness of his mouth. If he had 
been a ghost, men could not have avoided him more 
sedulously, and the giant negro who stalked at his 
back. Not that The Corner was peopled with cow¬ 
ards. The true Westerner avoids trouble, but cor¬ 
nered, he will fight like a wild cat. 

So people watched from the corner of their eyes 
as Donnegan passed. 

He left Lebrun’s. There was no competition. 
Luck blindly favored him, and Donnegan wanted 
contest, excitement. He crossed to Milligan’s. 
Rumor was there before him. A whisper conveyed 
to a pair of mighty-limbed cow-punchers that they 
were sitting at the table which Donnegan had occu¬ 
pied the night before, and they wisely rose without 
further hint and sought other chairs. Milligan, 
anxious-eyed, hurried to the orchestra, and with a 
blast of sound they sought to cover up the entry 
of the gun man. 

As a matter of fact that blare of horns only served 
to announce him. Something was about to happen; 
the eyes of men grew shadowy; the eyes of women 
brightened. And then Donnegan appeared, with 
George behind him, and crossed the floor straight to 
his table of the night before. Not that he had fore¬ 
thought in going toward it, but he was moving ab¬ 
sent-mindedly. 


HE HUNTS TROUBLE 


191 

Indeed, he had half forgotten that he was a public 
figure in The Corner, and sitting sipping the cordial 
which the negro brought him at once, he let his 
glance rove swiftly around the room. The eye of 
more than one brave man sank under that glance; 
the eye of more than one woman smiled back at 
him; but where the survey of Donnegan halted was 
on the face of Nelly Lebrun. 

She was crossing the farther side of the floor 
alone, unescorted except for the whisper about her, 
but seeing Donnegan she stopped abruptly. Donne¬ 
gan instantly rose. She would have gone on again 
in a flurry; but that would have been too pointed. 

A moment later Donnegan was threading his way 
across the dancf floor to Nelly Lebrun, with all 
eyes turned in his direction. He had his hat under 
his arm; and in his black clothes, with his white 
stock, he made an old-fashioned figure as he bowed 
before the girl and straightened again. 

“Did you send for me?” Donnegan inquired. 

Nelly Lebrun was frankly afraid; and she was 
also delighted. She felt that she had been drawn 
into the circle of intense public interest which sur¬ 
rounded the red-headed stranger; she remembered on 
the other hand that her father would be furious if 
she exchanged two words with the man. And for 
that very reason she was intrigued. Donnegan, being 
forbidden fruit, was irresistible. So she let the 
smile come to her lips and eyes, and then laughed 
outright in her excitement. 

“No,” she said with her lips, while her eyes said 
other things. 

“Eve come to ask a favor; to talk with you one 
minute.” 


192 


DONNEGAN 


“If I should—what would people say?” 

“Let’s find out.” 

“It would be—daring,” said Nelly Lebrun. “After 
last night.” 

“It would be delightful,” said Donnegan. “Here’s 
a table ready for us.” 

She went a pace closer to it with him. 

“I think you’ve frightened the poor people away 
from it. I mustn’t sit down with you, Mr. Donne¬ 
gan.” 

And she immediately slipped into a chair. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


HE TALKS OF LOVE 

S HE qualified her surrender, of course, by sit¬ 
ting on the very edge of the chair. She had 
on a wine-colored dress, and, with the excitement 
whipping color into her cheeks and her eyes dancing, 
Nelly Lebrun was a lovely picture. 

“I must go at once,” said Nelly. 

“Of course, I can’t expect you to stay.” 

She dropped one hand on the edge of the table. 
One would have thought that she was in the very 
act of rising. 

“Do you know that you frighten me?” 

“I?” said Donnegan, with appropriate inflection. 
“As if I were a man and you were angry.” 

“But you see?” And he made a gesture with both 
of his palms turned up. “People have slandered me. 
I am harmless.” 

“The minute is up, Mr. Donnegan. What is it 
you wish?” 

“Another minute.” 

“Now you laugh at me.” 

“No, no!” 

“And in the next minute?” 

“I hope to persuade you to stay still the third 
minute.” 

“Of course, I can’t.” 

“I know; it’s impossible.” 

“Quite.” She settled into the chair. “See how 


194 


DONNEGAN 


people stare at me! They remember poor Jack 
Landis and they think—the whole crowd-” 

“A crowd is always foolish. In the meantime, 
I’m happy.” 

“You?” 

“To be here; to sit close to you; to watch you.” 

Her glance was like the tip of a rapier, searching 
him through for some iota of seriousness under this 
banter. 

“Ah?” and Nelly Lebrun laughed. 

“Don’t you see that I mean it?” 

“You can watch me from a distance, Mr. Donne- 
gan.” 

“May I say a bold thing?” 

“You have said several.” 

“No one can really watch you from a distance.” 

She canted her head a little to one side; such an 
encounter of personal quips was a seventh heaven 
to her. 

“That’s a riddle, Mr. Donnegan.” 

“A simple one. The answer is, because there’s 
too much to watch.” 

He joined her when she laughed, but the laughter 
of Donnegan made not a sound, and he broke in 
on her mirth suddenly. 

“Ah, don’t you see I’m serious?” 

Her glance flicked on either side, as though she 
feared some one might have read his lips. 

“Not a soul can hear me,” murmured Donnegan, 
“and I’m going to be bolder still, and tell you the 
truth.” 

“It’s the last thing I dare stay to hear.” 

“You are too lovely to watch from a distance, 
Nelly Lebrun.” 

He was so direct that even Nelly Lebrun, expert 



HE TALKS OF LOVE 


195 


in flirtations, was given pause, and became sober. 
She shook her head and raised a cautioning finger. 
But Donnegan was not shaken. 

“Because there is a glamour about a beautiful 
girl,” he said gravely. “One has to step into the 
halo to see her, to know her. Are you contented 
to look at a flower from a distance? That’s an old 
comparison, isn’t it ? But there is something like. a 
fragrance about you, Nelly Lebrun. Don’t be afraid. 
No one can hear; no one shall ever dream I’ve 
said such bold things to you. In the meantime, we 
have a truth party. There is a fragrance, I say. 
It must be breathed. There is a glow which must 
touch one. As it touches me now, you see?” 

Indeed, there was a faint color in his cheeks. And 
the girl flushed more deeply; her eyes were still 
bright, but they no longer sharpened to such a 
penetrating point. She was believing at least a little 
part of what he said, and her disbelief only height¬ 
ened her joy in what was real in this strangest of 
love-makings. 

“I shall stay here to learn one thing,” she said. 
“What deviltry is behind all this talk, Mr. Donne¬ 
gan?” 

“Is that fair to me? Besides, I only follow a 
beaten trail in The Corner.” 

“And that?” 

“Toward Nelly Lebrun.” 

“A beaten trail? You?” she cried, with just a 
touch of anger. “I’m not a child, Mr. Donnegan!” 

“You are not; and that’s why I am frank.” 

“You have done all these things—following this 
trail you speak of?” 

“Remember,” said Donnegan soberly. “What 
have I done?” 


196 


DONNEGAN 


“Shot down two men; played like an actor on a 
stage a couple of times at least, if I must be blunt; 
hunted danger like—like a reckless madman; dared 
all The Corner to cross you; flaunted the red rag 
in the face of the bull. Those are a few things you 
have done, sir! And all on one trail?, That trail 
you spoke of?” 

“Nelly Lebrun-” 

“Tm listening; and do you know I’m persuading 
myself to believe you?” 

“It’s because you feel the truth before I speak it. 
Truth speaks for itself, you know.” 

“I have closed my eyes—you see? I have stepped 
into a masquerade. Now you can talk.” 

“Masquerades are exciting,” murmured Donne- 
gan. 

“And they are sometimes beautiful.” 

“But this sober truth of mine-” 

“Well?” 

“I came here unknown—and I saw you, Nelly 
Lebrun.” 

He paused; she was looking a little past him. 

“I came in rags; no friends; no following. And 
I saw that I should have to make you notice me.” 

“And why? No, I shouldn’t have asked that.” 

“You shouldn’t ask that,” agreed Donnegan. “But 
I saw you the queen of The Corner, worshiped by 
all men? What could I do? I am not rich. I 
am not gay. I am not big. You see?” 

He drew her attention to his smallness with a 
flush which never failed to touch the face of Don¬ 
negan when he thought of his size; and he seemed 
to swell and grow greater in the very instant she 
glanced at him. 

“What could I do? One thing; fight. I have 




HE TALKS OF LOVE 


197 


fought. I fought to get the eye of The Corner, but 
most of all to attract your attention. I came closer 
to you. I saw that one man blocked the way— 
mostly. I decided to brush him aside. How?” 

“By fighting?” She had not been carried away 
by his argument. She was watching him like a 
lynx every moment. 

“Not by that. By bluffing. You see, I was not 
fool enough to think that you would—particularly 
notice a fighting bully.” 

He laid his open hand on the table. It was like 
exposing both strength and weakness; and into such 
a trap it would have been a singularly hard-minded 
woman who might not have stepped. Nelly Lebrun 
leaned a little closer. She forgot to criticize. 

“It was bluff. I saw that Landis was big and 
good-looking. And what was I beside him? Noth¬ 
ing. I could only hope that he was hollow; yellow 
—you see? So I tried the bluff. You know about 
it. The clock, and all that clap-trap. But Landis 
wasn't yellow. He didn't crumble. He lasted long 
enough to call my bluff, and I had to shoot in self- 
defense. And then, when he lay on the floor, I 
saw that I had failed.” 

“Failed?” 

He lowered his eyes for fear that she would 
catch the glitter of them. 

“I knew that you would hate me for what I had 
done because I had only proved that Landis was a 
brave youngster with enough nerve for nine out of 
ten. And I came to-night—to ask you to forgive 
me. No, not that—only to ask you to understand. 
Do you?” 

He raised his glance suddenly at that, and their 
eyes met with one of those electric shocks which 


198 


DONNEGAN 


will go tingling through two people. And when the 
lips of Nelly Lebrun parted a little, he knew that 
she was in the trap. He closed his hand that lay 
on the table—curling the fingers slowly. In that 
way he expressed all his exultation. 

“There is something wrong,” said the girl, in a 
tone of one who argues with herself. “It’s all too 
logical to be real.” 

“Ah?” 

“Was that your only reason for fighting Jack 
Landis?” 

“Do I have to confess even that?” 

She smiled in the triumph of her penetration, but 
it was a brief, unhappy smile. One might have 
thought that she would have been glad to be de¬ 
ceived. 

“I came to serve a girl who was unhappy,” said 
Donnegan. “Her fiance had left her; her fiance 
was Jack Landis. And she’s now in a hut up the 
hill waiting for him. And I thought that if I 
ruined him in your eyes he’d go back to a girl who 
wouldn’t care so much about bravery. Who’d for¬ 
give him for having left her. But you see what a 
fool I was and how clumsily I worked? My bluff 
failed, and I only wounded him, put him in your 
house, under your care, where he’ll be happiest, and 
where there’ll never be a chance for this girl to 
get him back.” 

Nelly Lebrun, with her folded hands under her 
chin, studied him. 

“Mr. Donnegan,” she said, “I wish I knew whether 
you are the most chivalrous, self-sacrificing of men, 
or simply the most gorgeous liar in the desert.” 

“And it’s hardly fair,” said Donnegan, “to ex¬ 
pect me to tell you that.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

HE STEALS HIS SECOND MAN 

IT gave them both a welcome opportunity to laugh, 
* welcome to the girl because it broke into an 
excitement which was rapidly telling upon her, and 
welcome to Donnegan because the strain of so many 
malversations of the truth was telling upon him as 
well. They laughed together. One hasty glance told 
Donnegan that half the couples in the room were 
whispering about Donnegan and Nelly Lebrun; but 
when he looked across the table he saw that Nelly 
Lebrun had not a thought for what might be going 
on in the minds of others. She was quite content. 

“And the girl?” she said. 

Donnegan rested his forehead upon his hand in 
thought. He dared not let Nelly see his face at 
this moment, for the mention of Lou Macon had 
poured the old flood of sorrow back upon him. And 
therefore, when he looked up, he was sneering. 

“You know these blond, pretty girls?” he said. 

“Oh, they are adorable!” 

“With dull eyes,” said Donnegan coldly, and a 
twinkle came in the responsive eye of Nelly Lebrun. 
“The sort of a girl who sees a hero in such a fellow 
as Jack Landis.” 

“And Jack is brave.” 

“I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Never mind. Brave, but such a boy ” 

“Are you serious?” 

She looked questionably at Donnegan and they 
smiled together, slowly. 


200 


DONNEGAN 


“I—I’m glad it’s that way,” and Donnegan sighed. 

“And did you really think it could be any other 
way ?” 

“I didn’t know. I’m afraid I was blind.” 

“But the poor girl on the hill; I wish I could 
see her.” 

She was watching Donnegan very sharply again. 

“A good idea. Why don’t you?” 

“You seem to like her?” 

“Yes,” said Donnegan judiciously. “She has an 
appealing way; I’m very sorry for her. But I’ve 
done my best; I can’t help her.” 

“Isn’t there some way?” 

“Of what?” 

“Of helping her.” 

Donnegan laughed. “Go to your father and per¬ 
suade him to send Landis back to her.” 

She shook her head. 

“Of course, that wouldn’t do. There’s business 
mixed up in all this, you know.” 

“Business? Well, I guessed at that.” 

“My part in it wasn’t very pleasant,” she re¬ 
marked sadly. 

Donnegan was discreetly silent, knowing that si¬ 
lence extracts secrets. 

“They made me—flirt with poor Jack. I really 
liked him!” 

How much the past tense may mean! 

“Poor fellow,” murmured the sympathetic Don¬ 
negan. “But why,” with gathering heat, “couldn’t 
you help me to do the thing I can’t do alone? Why 
couldn’t you get him away from the house?” 

“With Joe Rix and The Pedlar guarding him?” 

“They’ll be asleep in the middle of the night.” 

“But Jack would wake up and make a noise.” 


HE STEALS HIS SECOND MAN 


201 


“There are things that would make him sleep 
through anything.” 

“But how could he be moved?” 

“On a horse litter kept ready outside.” 

“And how carried to the litter?” 

“I would carry him.” The girl looked at him 
with a question and then with a faint smile begin¬ 
ning. “Easily,” said Donnegan, stiffening in his 
chair. “Very easily.” 

It pleased her to find this weakness in the pride of 
the invincible Donnegan. It gave her a secure feel¬ 
ing of mastery. So she controlled her smile and 
looked with a sort of superior kindliness upon the 
red-headed little man. 

“It’s no good,” Nelly Lebrun said with a sigh. 
“Even if he were taken away—and then it would 
get you into a bad mess.” 

“Would it? Worse than I’m in?” 

“Hush! Lord Nick is coming to The Corner; 
and no matter what you’ve done so far—I think I 
could quiet him. But if you were to take Landis 
away—then nothing could stop him.” 

Donnegan sneered. 

“I begin to think Lord Nick is a bogie,” he said. 
“Every one whispers when they speak of him.” He 
leaned forward. “I should like to meet him, Nelly 
Lebrun!” 

It staggered Nelly. “Do you mean that?” she 
cried softly. 

“I do.” 

She caught her breath and then a spark of deviltry 
gleamed. “I wonder!” said Nelly Lebrun, and her 
glance weighed Donnegan. 

“All I ask is a fair chance,” he said. 

“He is a big man,” said the girl maliciously. 


202 


DONNEGAN 


The never failing blush burned in the face of 
Donnegan. 

“A large target is more easily hit,” he said 
through his teeth. 

Her thoughts played back and forth in her eyes. 

“I can’t do it,” she said. 

Donnegan played a random card. 

“I was mistaken,” he said darkly. “Jack was 
not the man I should have faced. Lord Nick!” 

“No, no, no, Mr. Donnegan!” 

“You can’t persuade me. Well, I was a fool not 
to guess it!” 

“I really think,” said the girl gloomily, “that as 
soon as Lord Nick comes, you’ll hunt him out!” 

He bowed to her with cold politeness. “In spite 
of his size,” said Donnegan through his teeth once 
more. 

And at this the girl’s face softened and grew 
merry. 

“I’m going to help you to take Jack away,” she 
said, “on one condition.” 

“And that?” 

“That you won’t make a step toward Lord Nick 
when he comes.” 

“I shall not avoid him,” said Donnegan. 

“You’re unreasonable! Well, not avoid him, but 
simply not provoke him. I’ll arrange it so that Lord 
Nick won’t come hunting trouble.” 

“And he’ll let Jack stay with the girl and her 
father?” 

“Perhaps he’ll persuade them to let him go of 
their own free will.” 

Donnegan thought of the colonel and smiled. 

“In that case, of course, I shouldn’t care at all.” 
He added: “But do you mean all this?” 


HE STEALS HIS SECOND MAN 


203 


“You shall see.” 

They talked only a moment longer and then Don- 
negan left the hall with the girl on his arm. Cer¬ 
tainly the thoughts of all in Milligan’s followed that 
pair; and it was seen that Donnegan took her to the 
door of her house and then went away through the 
town and up the hill. And big George followed 
him like a shadow cast from a lantern behind a man 
walking in a fog. 

In the hut on the hill, Donnegan put George 
quickly to work, and with a door and some bedding, 
a litter was hastily constructed and swung between 
the two horses. In the meantime, Donnegan climbed 
higher up the hill and watched steadily over the 
town until, in a house beneath him, two lights were 
shown. He came back at that and hurried down the 
hill with George behind and around the houses until 
they came to the pretentious cabin of the gambler, 
Lebrun. 

Once there, Donnegan went straight to an un¬ 
lighted window, tapped; and it was opened from 
within, softly. Nelly Lebrun stood within. 

“It’s done,” she said. “Joe and The Pedlar are 
sound asleep. They drank too much.” 

“Your father.” 

“Hasn’t come home.” 

“And Jack Landis?” 

“No matter what you do, he won’t wake up; 
but be careful of his shoulder. It’s badly torn. 
How can you carry him?” 

She could not see Donnegan’s flush, but she heard 
his teeth grit. And he slipped through the window, 
gesturing to George to come close. It was still 
darker inside the room—far darker than the star¬ 
lit night outside. And the one path of lighter gray 


204 


DONNEGAN 


was the bed of Jack Landis. His heavy breathing 
was the only sound. Donnegan kneeled beside him 
and worked his arms under the limp figure. 

And while he kneeled there a door in the house 
was opened and closed softly. Donnegan stood up. 

“Is the door locked ?” 

“No,” whispered the girl. 

“Quick!” 

“Too late. It’s father, and he’d hear the turning 
of the key.” 

They waited, while the light, quick step came down 
the hall of the cabin. It came to the door, it went 
past; and then the steps retraced and the door was 
opened gently. 

There was a light in the hall; the form of Lebrun 
was outlined black and distinct. 

“Jack!” he whispered. 

No sound; he made as if to enter, and then he 
heard the heavy breathing of the sleeper, apparently. 

“Asleep, poor fool,” murmured the gambler, and 
closed the door. 

The door was no sooner closed than Donnegan 
had raised the body of the sleeper. Once, as he rose, 
straining, it nearly slipped from his arms; and when 
he stood erect he staggered. But once he had gained 
his equilibrium, he carried the wounded man easily 
enough to the window through which George reached 
his gorilla arms and lifted out the burden. 

“You see?” said Donnegan, panting, to the girl. 

“Yes; it was really wonderful!” 

“You are laughing, now.” 

“I? But hurry. My father has a fox’s ear for 
noises.” 

“He will not hear this, I think.” There was a 
swift scuffle, very soft of movement. 


HE STEALS HIS SECOND MAN 


205 


“Nelly!” called a far-off voice. 

“Hurry, hurry! Don't you hear?” 

“You forgive me?” 

“No—yes—but hurry!” 

“You will remember me?” 

“Mr. Donnegan!” 

“Adieu!” 

She caught a picture of him sitting in the window 
for the split part of a second, with his hat off, bow¬ 
ing to her. Then he was gone. And she went into 
the hall, panting with excitement. 

“Heavens!” Nelly Lebrun murmured. “I feel as 
if I had been hunted, and I nust look it. What 

if he-” Whatever the thought was she did not 

complete it. “It may have been for the best,” added 
Nelly Lebrun. 



CHAPTER XXIX 


HIS ARCH ENEMY APPEARS 

I T is your phlegmatic person who can waken easily 
in the morning, but an active mind readjusts it¬ 
self slowly to the day. So Nelly Lebrun roused her¬ 
self with an effort and scowled toward the door at 
which the hand was still rapping. 

“Yes?” she called drowsily. 

“This is Nick. May I come in?” 

“This is who?” 

The name had brought her instantly into com¬ 
plete wakefulness; she was out of the bed, had 
slipped her feet into her slippers and whipped a 
dressing gown around her while she was asking the 
question. It was a luxurious little boudoir which she 
had managed to equip. Skins of the lynx, cun¬ 
ningly matched, had been sewn together to make her 
a rug, and the soft fur of the wild cat was the outer 
covering of her bed. She threw back the tumbled 
bed-clothes, tossed half a dozen pillows into place, 
transforming it into a day couch, and ran to the 
mirror. 

And in the meantime, the deep voice outside the 
door was saying: “Yes, Nick. May I come in?” 

She gave a little ecstatic cry, but while it was 
still tingling on her lips, she was winding her hair 
into shape with lightning speed; had dipped the tips 
of her fingers in cold water and rubbed her eyes 
awake and brilliant, and with one circular rub had 
brought the color into her cheeks. 


HIS ARCH ENEMY APPEARS 207 

Scarcely ten seconds from the time when she first 
answered the knock, Nelly was opening the door and 
peeping out into the hall. 

The rest was done by the man without; he cast 
the door open with the pressure of his foot, caught 
the girl in his arms, and kissed her; and while he 
closed the door the girl slipped back and stood with 
one hand pressed against her face, and her face 
held that delightful expression halfway between 
laughter and embarrassment. As for Lord Nick, he 
did not even smile. He was not, in fact, a man 
who was prone to gentle expressions, but having been 
framed by nature for a strong dominance over all 
around him, his habitual expression was a proud 
self-containment. It would have been insolence in 
another man; in Lord Nick it was rather leonine. 

He was fully as tall as Jack Landis, but he car¬ 
ried his height easily, and was so perfectly propor¬ 
tioned that unless he was seen beside another man 
he did not look large. The breadth of his shoulders 
was concealed by the depth of his chest; and the 
girth of his throat was made to appear quite normal 
by the lordly size of the head it supported. To 
crown and set off his magnificent body there was a 
handsome face; and he had the combination of active 
eyes and red hair, which was noticeable in Donne- 
gan, too. In fact, there was a certain resemblance 
between the two men; in the set of the jaw for 
instance, in the gleam of the eye, and above all in 
an indescribable ardor of spirit, which exuded from 
them both. Except, of course, that in Donnegan, 
one was conscious of all spirit and very little body, 
but in Lord Nick hand and eye were terribly mated. 
Looking upon so splendid a figure, it was no wonder 
that the mountain desert had forgiven the crimes 


208 


DONNEGAN 


of Lord Nick because of the careless insolence with 
which he treated the law. It requires an exceptional 
man to make a legal life attractive and respected; it 
takes a genius to make law-breaking glorious. 

No wonder that Nelly Lebrun stood with her 
hand against her cheek, looking him over, smiling 
happily at him, and questioning him about his im¬ 
mediate past all in the same glance. He waved her 
back to her couch, and she hesitated. Then, as 
though she remembered that she now had to do with 
Lord Nick in person, she obediently curled up on 
the lounge, and waited expectantly. 

“I hear you’ve been raising the devil,” said this 
singularly frank admirer. 

The girl merely looked at him. 

“Well?” he insisted. 

“I haven’t done a thing,” protested Nelly rather 
childishly. 

“No?” One felt that he could have crushed her 
with evidence to the contrary but that he was re¬ 
straining himself—it was not worth while to bother 
with such a girl seriously. “Things have fallen into 
a tangle since I left, old Satan Macon is on the 
spot and your rat of a father has let Landis get 
away. What have you been doing, Nelly, while 
all this was going on ? Sitting with your eyes 
closed ?” 

He took a chair and lounged back in it grace¬ 
fully. 

“How could I help it? I’m not a watchdog.” 

He was silent for a time. “Well,” he said, “if you 
told me the truth I suppose I shouldn’t love you, 
my girl. But this time I’m in earnest. Landis is a 
mint, silly child. If we let him go we lose the mint.” 

“I suppose you’ll get him back?” 


HIS ARCH ENEMY APPEARS 


209 


“First, I want to find out how he got away/’ 

“I know how.” 

“Ah?” 

“Donnegan.” 

“Donnegan, Donnegan, Donnegan!” burst out 
Lord Nick, and though he did not raise the pitch 
of his voice, he allowed its volume to swell softly so 
that it filled the room like the humming of a great, 
angry tiger. “Nobody says three words without put¬ 
ting in the name of Donnegan as one of them! 
You, too!” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“Donnegan thrills The Corner!” went on the big 
man in the same terrible voice. “Donnegan wears 
queer clothes; Donnegan shoots Scar-faced Lewis; 
Donnegan pumps the nerve out of poor Jack Landis 
and then drills him. Why, Nelly, it looks as though 
ril have to kill this intruding fool!” 

She blanched at this, but he did not appear to 
notice. 

“IPs a long time since you’ve killed a man, isn’t 
it?” she asked coldly. 

“It’s an awful business,” declared Lord Nick. 
“Always complications; have to throw the blame on 
the other fellow. And even these blockheads are 
beginning to get tired of my self-defense pleas.” 

“Well,” murmured the girl, “don’t cross that 
bridge until you come to it; and you’ll never come 
to it.” 

“Never. Because I don’t want him killed.” 

“Ah,” Lord Nick murmured. “And why?” 

“Because he’s in love—with me.” 

“Tush!” said Lord Nick. “I see you, my dear. 
Donnegan seems to be a rare fellow, but he couldn’t 
have gotten Landis out of this house without help. 


210 


DONNEGAN 


Ilix and The Pedlar may have been a bit sleepy, 
but Donnegan had to find out when they fell asleep. 
He had a confederate. Who? Not Rix; not The 
Pedlar; not Lebrun. They all know me. It had to 
be some one who doesn’t fear me. Who? Only one 
person in the world. Nelly, you’re the one!” 

She hesitated a breathless instant. 

“Yes,” she said, “I am.” 

She added, as he stared calmly at her, consider¬ 
ing: “There’s a girl in the case. She came up here 
to get Landis; seems he was in love with her once. 
And I pitied her. I sent him back to her. Suppose 
he is a mint; haven’t we coined enough money out 
of him? Besides, I couldn’t have kept on with it.” 

“No?” 

“He was getting violent, and he talked marriage 
all day, every day. I haven’t any nerves, you say, 
but he began to put me on edge. So I got rid of 
him.” 

“Nelly, are you growing a conscience?” 

She flushed and then set her teeth. 

“But I’ll have to teach you business methods, my 
dear. I have to bring him back.” 

“You’ll have to go through Donnegan to do it.” 

“I suppose so.” 

“You don’t understand, Nick. He’s different.” 

“Eh?” 

“He’s like you.” 

“What are you driving at?” 

“Nick, I tell you upon my word of honor, no 
matter what a terrible fighter you may be, Donnegan 
will give you trouble. He has your hair and your 
eyes, and he moves like a cat. I’ve never seen such 
a man—except you. I’d rather see you fight the 
plague than fight Donnegan!” 


HIS ARCH ENEMY APPEARS 


211 


For the first time Lord Nick showed real emo¬ 
tion; he leaned a little forward. 

“Just what does he mean to you?” he asked. “Eve 
stood for a good deal, Nelly; I’ve given you absolute 
freedom, but if I ever suspect you-■” 

The lion was up in him unmistakably now. And 
the girl shrank. 

“If it were serious, do you suppose Ed talk like 
this ?” 

“I don’t know. You’re a clever little devil, Nell. 
But Em clever, too. And I begin to see through 
you. Do you still want to save Donnegan?” 

“For your own sake.” 

He stood up. 

“I’m going up the hill to-day. If Donnegan’s 
there, I’ll go through him; but I’m going to have 
Landis back!” 

She, also, rose. 

“There’s only one way out and Ell take that way. 
I’ll get Donnegan to leave the house.” 

“I don’t care what you do about that.” 

“And if he isn’t there, will you give me your 
word that you won’t hunt him out afterward?” 

“I never make promises, Nell.” 

“But I’ll trust you, Nick.” 

“Very well. I start up the hill in an hour. You 
have that long.” 



CHAPTER XXX 


HE IS LURED FROM DANGER 

T HE air was thin and chilly; snow had fallen in 
the mountains to the north, and the wind was 
bringing the cold down to The Corner. Nelly Le¬ 
brun noted this as she dressed and made up her 
mind accordingly. She sent out two messages: one 
to the cook to send breakfast to her room, which 
she ate while she finished dressing with care; and 
the other to the gambling house, summoning one of 
the waiters. When he came, she gave him a note 
for Donnegan. The fellow flashed a glance at her 
as he took the envelope. There was no need to 
give that name and address in The Corner, and the 
girl tingled under the glance. 

She finished her breakfast and then concentrated 
in polishing up her appearance. From all of which 
it may be gathered that Nelly Lebrun was in love 
with Donnegan, but she really was not. But he had 
touched in her that cord of romance which runs 
through every woman; whenever it is touched the 
vibration is music, and Nelly was filled with the 
sound of it. And except for Lord Nick, there is 
no doubt that she would have really lost her head; 
for she kept seeing the face of Donnegan, as he 
had leaned toward her across the little table in 
Milligan’s. And that, as any one may know, is a 
dangerous symptom. 

Her glances were alternating between her mirror 
and her watch, and the hands of the latter pointed 


HE IS LURED FROM DANGER 


213; 

to the fact that fifty minutes of her hour had 
elapsed when a message came up that she was waited 
for in the street below. So Nelly Lebrun went down 
in her riding costume, the corduroy swishing at each 
step, and tapping her shining boots with the riding 
crop. Her own horse she found at the hitching 
rack, and beside it Donnegan was on his chestnut 
horse. It was a tall horse, and he looked more 
diminutive than ever before, pitched so high in 
the saddle. 

He was on the ground in a flash with the reins, 
tucked under one arm and his hat under the other; 
she became aware of gloves and white-linen stock, 
and pale, narrow face. Truly Donnegan made a 
natty appearance. 

“There’s no day like a cool day for riding,” she 
said, “and I thought you might agree with me.” 

He untethered her horse while he murmured an 
answer. But for his attitude she cared little so long 
as she had him riding away from that house on the 
hill where Lord Nick in all his terror would appear 
in some few minutes. Besides, as they swung up the 
road—the chestnut at a long-strided canter and 
Nelly’s black at a soft and choppy pace—the wind 
of the gallop struck into her face and Nelly was 
made to enjoy things one by one and not two by 
two. They hit over the hills, and when the first 
impulse of the ride was done they were a mile or 
more away from The Corner—and Lord Nick. 

The resemblance between the two men was less 
striking now that she had Donnegan beside her. He 
seemed more weazened, paler, and intense as a violin 
string screwed to the snapping point; there was none 
of the lordly tolerance of Nick about him; he was 
like a bull terrier compared with a stag hound. And 


214 


DONNEGAN 


only the color of his eyes and his hair made her 
make the comparison at all. 

“What could be better ?” she said when they 
checked their horses on a hilltop to look over a grad¬ 
ual falling of the ground below. “What could be 
better?” The wind flattened a loose curl of hair 
against her cheek, and overhead the wild geese were 
flying and crying, small and far away. 

“One thing better,” said Donnegan, “and that is 
to sit in a chair and see this.” 

She frowned at such frankness; it was almost blunt 
discourtesy. 

“You see, I’m a lazy man.” 

“How long has it been,” the girl asked sharply, 
“since you have slept?” 

“Two days, I think.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

He lifted his eyes slowly from a glittering, distant 
rock, and brought his glance toward her by degrees. 
He had a way of exciting people even in the most 
commonplace conversation, and the girl felt a thrill 
under his look. 

“That,” said Donnegan, “is a dangerous question.” 

And he allowed such hunger to come into his eye 
that she caught her breath. The imp of perversity 
made her go on. 

“And why dangerous?” 

It was an excellent excuse for an outpouring of 
the heart from Donnegan, but, instead, his eyes 
twinkled at her. 

“You are not frank,” he remarked. 

She could not help laughing, and her laughter 
trailed away musically in her excitement. 

“Having once let down the bars I cannot keep 
you at arm’s length. After last night I suppose I 


HE IS LURED FROM DANGER 215 

should never have let you see me for—days and 
days.” 

“That’s why I’m curious,” said Donnegan, “and 
not flattered. I’m trying to find what purpose you 
have in taking me riding.” 

“I wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “if you will.” 

And since such fencing with the wits delighted 
her, she let all her delight come with a sparkle in 
her eyes. 

“I have one clew.” 

“Yes?” 

“And that is that you may have the old-woman 
curiosity to find out how many ways a man can 
tell her that he’s fond of her.” 

Though she flushed a little she kept her poise 
admirably. 

“I suppose that is part of my interest,” she ad¬ 
mitted. 

“I can think of a great many ways of saying it,” 
said Donnegan. “I am the dry desert, you are the 
rain, and yet I remain dry and produce no grass.” 

“A very pretty comparison,” said the girl with a 
smile. 

“A very green one,” and Donnegan smiled. “I 
am the wind and you are the wild geese, and yet I 
keep on blowing after you are gone and do not 
carry away a feather of you.” 

“Pretty again.” 

“And silly. But, really, you are very kind to me, 
and I shall try not to take too much advantage of it.” 

“Will you answer a question?” 

“I had rather ask one; but go on.” 

“What made you so dry a desert, Mr. Donne- 
gan?” 

“There is a very leading question again.” 


2l6 


DONNEGAN 


“I don’t mean it that way. For you had the 
same sad, hungered look the first time I saw you— 
when you came into Milligan’s in that beggarly 
disguise.” 

“I shall confess one thing. It was not a disguise. 
It was the fact of me; I am a beggarly person.” 

“Nonsense! I’m not witless, Mr. Donnegan. You 
talk well. You have an education.” 

“In fact I have an educated taste; I disapprove 
of myself, you see, and long ago learned not to 
take myself too seriously.” 

“Which leads to-” 

“The reason why I have wandered so much.” 

“Like a hunter on a trail. Hunting for what?” 

“A chance to sit in a saddle—or a chair—and 
talk as we are talking.” 

“Which seems to he idly.” 

“Oh, you mistake me. Under the surface I am as 
serious as fire.” 

“Or ice.” 

At the random hit he glanced sharply at her, but 
she was looking a little past him, thinking. 

“I have tried to get at the reason behind all your 
reasons,” she said. “You came on me in a haphazard 
fashion, and yet you are not a haphazard sort.” 

“Do you see nothing serious about me?” 

“I see that you are unhappy,” said the girl gently. 
“And I am sorry.” 

Once again Donnegan was jarred, and he came 
within an ace of opening his mind to her, of pouring 
out the truth about Lou Macon. Love is a talking 
madness in all men and he came within an ace of 
confessing his troubles. 

“Let’s go on,” she said, loosening her rein. 



HE IS LURED FROM DANGER 


217 

“Why not cut back in a semicircle toward The 
Corner ?” 

“Toward The Corner? No, no!” 

There was a brightening of his eye as he noted 
her shudder of distaste or fear, and she strove to 
cover her traces. 

“I’m sick of the place,” she said eagerly. “Let’s 
get as far from it as we may.” 

“But yonder is a very good trail leading past it.” 

“Of course we’ll ride that way if you wish, but 
I’d rather go straight ahead.” 

If she had insisted stubbornly he would have 
thought nothing, but the moment she became politic 
he was on his guard. 

“You dislike something in The Corner,” he said, 
thinking carelessly and aloud. “You are afraid of 
something back there. But what could you be afraid 
of? Then you may be afraid of something for me. 
Ah, I have it! They have decided to ‘get’ me for 
taking Jack Landis away; Joe Rix and The Pedlar 
are waiting for me to come back!” 

He looked steadily and she attempted to laugh. 

“Joe Rix and the Pedlar? I would not stack 
ten like them against you!” 

“Then it is some one else.” 

“I haven’t said so. Of course there’s no one.” 

She shook her rein again, but Donnegan sat still 
in his saddle and looked fixedly at her. 

“That’s why you brought me out here,” he an¬ 
nounced. “Oh, Nelly Lebrun, what’s behind your 
mind? Who is it? By Heaven, it’s this Lord 
Nick!” 

“Mr. Donnegan, you’re letting your imagination 
run wild.” 


2l8 


DONNEGAN 


“It’s gone straight to the point. But I’m not 
angry. I think I may get back in time.” 

He turned his horse, and the girl swung hers 
beside him and caught his arm. 

“Don’t go!” she pleaded. “You’re right; it’s 
Nick, and it’s suicide to face him!” 

The face of Donnegan set cruelly. 

“The main obstacle,” he said. “Come and watch 
me handle it!” 

But she dropped her head and buried her face 
in her hands, and, sitting there for a long time, 
she heard his careless whistling blow back to her as 
he galloped toward The Corner. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


HE REVEALS HIMSELF 

I F Nelly Lebrun had consigned him mentally to 
the worms, that thought made not the slightest 
impression upon Donnegan. A chance for action 
was opening before him, and above all a chance 
of action in the eye of Lou Macon; and he wel¬ 
comed with open arms the thought that he would 
have an opportunity to strike for her, and keep 
Landis with her. He went arrowy straight and 
arrowy fast to the cabin on the hill, and he found 
ample evidence that it had become a center of atten¬ 
tion in The Corner. There was a scattering of peo¬ 
ple in the distance, apparently loitering with no par¬ 
ticular purpose, but undoubtedly because they 
awaited an explosion of some sort. He went by a 
group at which the chestnut shied, and as Donnegan 
straightened out the horse again he caught a look 
of both interest and pity on the faces of the men. 

Did they give him up so soon as it was known 
that Lord Nick had entered the lists against him? 
Had all his display in The Corner gone for nothing 
as against the repute of this terrible mystery man? 
His vanity made him set his teeth again. 

Dismounting before the cabin of the colonel, he 
found that worthy in his invalid chair, enjoying 
a sun bath in front of his house. But there was no 
sign of Lord Nick—no sign of Lou. A grim fear 
came to Donnegan that he might have to attack 
Nick in his own stronghold, for Jack Landis might 
already have been taken away to the Lebrun house. 


220 


DONNEGAN 


So he went straight to the colonel, and when he 
came close he saw that the fat man was apparently 
in the grip of a chill. He had gathered a vast blan¬ 
ket about his shoulders and kept drawing it tighter ; 
beneath his eyes, which looked down to the ground, 
there were violet shadows. 

“I’ve lost,” said Donnegan through his teeth. 
“Lord Nick has been here?” 

The invalid lifted his eyes, and Donnegan saw a 
terrible thing—that the nerve of the fat man had 
been crushed. The folds of his face quivered as he 
answered huskily: “He has been here!” 

“And Landis is gone?” 

“No.” 

“Not gone? Then-” 

“Nick has gone to get a horse litter. He came up 
just to clear the way.” 

“When he comes back he’ll find me!” 

The glance of the colonel cleared long enough 
to survey Donnegan slowly from head to foot, and 
his amusement sent the familiar hot flush over the 
face of the little man. He straightened to his full 
height, which, in his high heels, was not insignificant. 
But the colonel was apparently so desperate that he 
was willing to throw caution away. 

“Compared with Lord Nick, Donnegan,” he said, 
“you don’t look half a man—even with those heels.” 

And he smiled calmly at Donnegan in the manner 
of one who, having escaped the lightning bolt itself, 
does not fear mere thunder. 

“There is no fool like a fat fool,” said Donnegan 
with childish viciousness. “What did Lord Nick, 
as you call him, do you? He’s brought out the 
yellow, my friend.” 



HE REVEALS HIMSELF 


221 


The colonel accepted the insult without the quiver 
of an eyelid. Throughout he seemed to be looking 
expectantly beyond Donnegan. 

“My young friend,” he said, “you have been very 
useful to me. But I must confess that you are no 
longer a tool equal to the task. I dismiss you. I 
thank you cordially for your efforts. They are 
worthless. You see that crowd gathering yonder? 
They have come to see Lord Nick prepare you for 
a hole in the ground. And make no mistake: if you 
are here when he returns that hole will have to be 
dug—unless they throw you out for the claws of the 
buzzards. In the meantime, our efforts have been 
wasted completely. I hadn’t enough time. I had 
thrown the fear of sudden death into Landis, and 
in another hour he would have signed away his soul 
to me for fear of poison.” 

The colonel paused to chuckle at some enjoyable 
memory. 

“Then Nick came. You see, I know all about 
Nick.” 

“And Nick knows all about you?” 

For a moment the agate, catlike eyes of the colonel 
clouded and cleared again in their unfathomable 
manner. 

“At moments, Donnegan,” he said, “you have rare 
perceptions. That is exactly it—Nick knows just 
about everything concerning me. And so—roll your 
pack and climb on your horse and get away. I think 
you may have another five minutes before he comes.” 

Donnegan turned on his heel. He went to the 
door of the hut and threw it open. Lou sat beside 
Landis holding his hand, and the murmur of her 
voice was still pleasant as an echo through the room 


222 


DONNEGAN 


when she looked up and saw Donnegan. At that 
she rose and her face hardened as she looked at 
him. Landis, also, lifted his head, and his face 
was convulsed with hatred. So Donnegan closed the 
door and went softly away to his own shack. 

She hated him even as Landis hated him, it 
seemed. He should have known that he would not 
be thanked for bringing back her lover to her with 
a bullet through his shoulder. Sitting in his cabin, 
he took his head between his hands and thought 
of life and death, and made up his mind. He was 
afraid. If Lord Nick had been the devil himself 
Donnegan could not have been more afraid. But 
if the big stranger had been ten devils instead of one 
Donnegan would not have found it in his soul to 
run away. 

Nothing remained for him in The Corner, it 
seemed, except his position as a man of power—a 
dangerous fighter. It was a less than worthless 
position, and yet, once having taken it up, he could 
net abandon it. More than one gunfighter has been 
in the same place, forced to act as a public menace 
long after he has ceased to feel any desire to fight. 
Of selfish motives there remained not a scruple to 
him, but there was still the happiness of Lou 
Macon. If the boy were taken back to Lebrun’s 
it would be fatal to her. For even if Nelly wished, 
she could not teach her eyes new habits, and she 
would ceaselessly play on the heart of the wounded 
man. 

It was the cessation of all talk from the gathering 
crowd outside that made Donnegan lift his head at 
length, and know that Lord Nick had come. But 
before he had time to prepare himself, the door was 


HE REVEALS HIMSELF 


223 


cast open and into it, filling it from side to side, 
stepped Lord Nick. 

There was no need of an introduction. Donne- 
gan knew him by the aptness with which the name 
fitted that glorious figure of a man and by the 
calm, confident eye which now was looking him 
slowly over, from head to foot. Lord Nick closed 
the door carefully behind him. 

“The colonel told me,” he said in his deep, smooth 
voice, “that you were waiting for me here.” 

And Donnegan recognized the snakelike malice of 
the fat man in drawing him into the fight. But he 
dismissed that quickly from his mind. He was 
staring, fascinated, into the face of the other. He 
was a reader of men, was Donnegan; he was a 
reader of mind, too. In his life of battle he had 
learned to judge the prowess of others at a glance, 
just as a musician can tell the quality of a violin by 
the first note he hears played upon it. So Donne¬ 
gan judged the quality of fighting men, and, looking 
into the face of Lord Nick, he knew that he had 
met his equal at last. 

It was a great and a bitter moment to him. The 
sense of physical smallness he had banished a thou¬ 
sand times by the recollection of his speed of hand 
and his surety with weapons. He had looked at 
men muscularly great and despised them in the 
knowledge that a gun or a knife would make him 
their master. But in Lord Nick he recognized 
his own nerveless speed of hand, his own hair- 
trigger balance, his own deadly seriousness and con¬ 
tempt of life. The experience in battle was there, 
too. And he began to feel that the size of the other 
crushed him to the floor and made him hopeless. 


22 4 


DONNEGAN 


It was unnatural, it was wrong, that this giant in 
the body should be a giant in adroitness also. 

Already Donnegan had died one death before he 
rose from his chair and stood to the full of his 
height ready to die again and summoning his nerv¬ 
ous force to meet the enemy. He had seen that the 
big man had followed his own example and had 
measured him at a glance. , 

Indeed the history of some lives of action held 
less than the concentrated silence of these two men 
during that second’s space. 

And now Donnegan felt the cold eye of the other 
eating into his own, striving to beat him down, break 
his nerve. For an instant panic got hold on Don¬ 
negan. He, himself, had broken the nerve of other 
men by the weight of his unaided eye. Had he not 
reduced poor Jack Landis to a trembling wreck by 
five minutes of silence? And had he not seen other 
brave men become trembling cowards unable to face 
the light, and all because of that terrible power 
which lies in the eye of some? He fought away 
the panic, though perspiration was pouring out upon 
his forehead and beneath his armpits. 

“The colonel is very kind,” said Donnegan. 

And that moment he sent up a prayer of thank¬ 
fulness that his voice was smooth as silk, and that 
he was able to smile into the face of Lord Nick. 
The brow of the other clouded and then smoothed 
itself deftly. Perhaps he, too, recognized the clang 
of steel upon steel and knew the metal of his enemy. 

“And therefore,” said Lord Nick, “since most of 
The Corner expects business from us, it seems much 
as if one of us must kill the other before we part.” 

“As a matter of fact,” said Donnegan, “I have 
been keeping that in mind.” He added, with that 


HE REVEALS HIMSELF 


225 


deadly smile of his that never reached his eyes: “I 
never disappoint the public when it’s possible to 
satisfy them/’ 

“No,” and Lord Nick nodded, “you seem to have 
most of the habits of an actor—including an inclina¬ 
tion to make up for your part.” 

Donnegan bit his lip until it bled, and then smiled. 

“I have been playing to fools,” he said. “Now I 
shall enjoy a discriminating critic.” 

“Yes,” remarked Lord Nick, “actors generally 
desire an intelligent audience for the death scene.” 

“I applaud your penetration and I shall speak well 
of you when this disagreeable duty is finished.” 

“Come,” and Lord Nick smiled genially, “you are 
a game little cock!” 

The telltale flush crimsoned Donnegan’s face. And 
if the fight had begun at that moment no power 
under heaven could have saved Lord Nick from 
the frenzy of the little man. 

“My size keeps me from stooping,” said Donne¬ 
gan, “I shall look up to you, sir, until the moment 
you fall.” 

“Well, hit again! You are also a wit, I see! 
Donnegan, I am almost sorry for the necessity of 
this meeting. And if it weren’t for the audi¬ 
ence-” 

“Say no more,” said Donnegan, bowing. “I read 
your heart and appreciate all you intend.” 

He had touched his stock as he bowed, and now 
he turned to the mirror and carefully adjusted it, 
for it was a little awry from the ride; but in reality 
he used that moment to examine his own face, and 
the set of his jaw and the clearness of his eye 
reassured him. Turning again, he surprised a glint 
of admiration in the glance of Lord Nick. 



226 


DONNEGAN 


“We are at one, sir, it appears,” he said. “And 
there is no other way out of this disagreeable 
necessity ?” 

“Unfortunately not. I have a certain position in 
these parts. People are apt to expect a good deal 
of me. And for my part I see no way out except 
a gunplay—no way out between the devil and the 
moon!” 

Astonishment swept suddenly across the face of 
the big man, for Donnegan, turning white as death, 
shrank toward the wall as though he had that mo¬ 
ment received cold steel in his body. 

“Say that again!” said Donnegan hoarsely. 

“I said there was no way out,” repeated Lord 
Nick, and though he kept his right hand in readi¬ 
ness, he passed his left through his red hair and 
stared at Donnegan with a tinge of contempt; he 
had seen men buckle like this at the last moment 
when their backs were to the wall. 

“Between——” repeated Donnegan. 

“The devil and the moon. Do you see a way 
yourself ?” 

He was astonished again to see Donnegan wince 
as if from a blow. His lips were trembling and 
they writhed stiffly over his words. 

“Who taught you that expression?” said Donne¬ 
gan. 

“A gentleman,” said Lord Nick. 

“Ah?” 

“My father, sir!” 

“Oh, Heaven,” moaned Donnegan, catching his 
hands to his breast. “Oh, Heaven, forgive us!” 

“What the devil is in you?” asked Lord Nick. 

The little man stood erect again and his eyes were 
now on fire. 



HE REVEALS HIMSELF 


227 


“You are Henry Nicholas Reardon,” he said. 
Lord Nick set his teeth. 

“Now,” he said, “it is certain that you must die!” 
But Donnegan cast out his arms and broke into 
a wild laughter. 

“Oh, you fool, you fool!” he cried. “Don’t you 
know me? I am the cripple!” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


HE OPENS HIS HEART 

T HE big man crossed the floor with one vast 
stride, and, seizing Donnegan by both shoul¬ 
ders, dragged him under the full light of the win¬ 
dow; and still the crazy laughter shook Donnegan 
and made him helpless. 

'They tied me to a board—like a papoose,” said 
Donnegan, “and they straightened my back—but 
they left me this way—weazened up.” He was stam¬ 
mering; hysterial, and the words tumbled from his 
lips in a jumble. “That was a month after you ran 
away from home. I was going to find you. Got 
bigger. Took the road. Kept hunting. Then I 
met a yegg who told about Rusty Dick—described 
him like you—I thought—I thought you were dead!” 

And the tears rolled down his face; he sobbed 
like a woman. 

A strange thing happened then. Lord Nick lifted 
the little man in his arms as if he were a child and 
literally carried him in that fashion to the bunk. 
He put him down tenderly, still with one mighty 
arm around his back. 

“You are Garry? You!” 

“Garrison Donnegan Reardon. Aye, that’s what 
I am. Henry, don’t say that you don’t know me!” 

“But—your back—I thought-” 

“I know—hopeless they said I was. But they 
brought in a young doctor. Now look at me. Little. 
I never grew big—-but hard, Henry, as leather!” 
And he sprang to his feet. And knowing that 



HE OPENS HIS HEART 


229 


Donnegan had begun life as a cripple it was easy to 
appreciate certain things about his expression—a 
cold wistfulness, and his manner of reading the 
minds of men. Lord Nick was like a man in a 
dream. He dragged Donnegan back to the bunk 
and forced him to sit down with the weight of his 
arms. And he could not keep his hands from his 
younger brother. As though he were blind and 
had to use the sense of touch to reassure him. 

“I heard lies. They said everybody was dead. I 
thought-” 

“The fever killed them all, except me. Uncle 
Toby took me in. He was a devil. Helped me 
along, but I left him when I could. And-” 

“Don’t tell me any more. All that matters is 
that I have you at last, Garry. Heaven knows it’s 
a horrible thing to be kithless and kinless, but I 
have you now! Ah, lad, but the old pain has left 
its mark on you. Poor Garry!” 

Donnegan shuddered. 

“I’ve forgotten it. Don’t bring it back.” 

“I keep feeling that you should be in that chair.” 

“I know. But I’m not. I’m hard as nails, I tell 
you.” 

He leaped to his feet again. 

“And not so small as you might think, Henry!” 

“Oh, big enough, Garry. Big enough to paralyze 
The Corner, from what I’ve heard.” 

“I’ve been playing a game with ’em, Henry. And 
now—if one of us could clear the road, what will we 
do together? Eh?” 

The smile of Lord Nick showed his teeth. 

“Haven’t I been hungry all my life for a man 
like you, lad? Somebody to stand and guard my 
back while I faced the rest of the world?” 




230 


DONNEGAN 


“And I’ll do my share of the facing, too.” 

“You will, Garry. But I’m your elder.” 

“Man, man! Nobody’s my elder except one that’s 
spent half his life—as I have done!” 

“We’ll teach you to forget the pain. I’ll make 
life roses for you, Garry.” 

“And the fools outside thought-” 

Donnegan broke into a soundless laughter, and, 
running to the door, opened it a fraction of an 
inch and peeped out. 

“They’re standing about in a circle. I can see ’em 
gaping. Even from here. What will they think, 
Henry?” 

Lord Nick ground his teeth. 

“They’ll think I’ve backed down from you,” he 
said gloomily. “They’ll think I’ve taken water for 
the first time.” 

“Why, confound ’em, the first man that opens 
his head-” 

“I know, I know. You’d fill his mouth with lead, 
and so would I. But if it ever gets about—as it’s 
sure to—that Lord Nick, as they call me, has been 
bluffed down without a fight, I’ll have every China¬ 
man that cooks on the range talking back to me. 
I’ll have to start all over again.” 

“Don’t say that, Henry. Don’t you see that I’ll 
go out and explain that I’m your brother?” 

“What good will that do? No, do we look alike?” 

Donnegan stopped short. 

“I’m not very big,” he said rather coldly, “but 
then I’m not so very small, either. I’ve found myself 
big enough, speaking in general. Besides, we have 
the same hair and eyes.” 

“Why, man, people will laugh when they hear 
that we call ourselves brothers.” 




HE OPENS HIS HEART 


231 

Donnegan ground his teeth and the old flush 
burned upon his face. 

‘Til cut some throats if they do,” he said, trem¬ 
bling with his passion. 

“I can hear them say it. ‘Lord Nick walked in 
on Donnegan prepared to eat him up. He measured 
him up and down, saw that he was a fighting wild 
cat in spite of his size, and decided to back out. 
And Donnegan was willing. They couldn’t come 
out without a story of some kind—with the whole 
world expecting a death in that cabin—so they 
framed a crazy cock-and-bull story about being 
brothers.’ I can hear them say that, Donnegan, 
and it makes me wild!” 

“Do you call me Donnegan?” said Donnegan 
sadly. 

“No, no. Garry, don’t be so touchy. You’ve 
never got over that, I see. Still all pride and fire.” 

“You’re not very humble yourself, Henry.” 

“Maybe not, maybe not. But I’ve been in a cer¬ 
tain position around these parts, Don—Garry. And 
it’s hard to see it go!” 

Donnegan closed his eyes in deep reverie. And 
then he forced out the words one by one. 

“Henry, I’ll let everybody know that it was I who 
backed down. That we were about to fight.” He 
was unable to speak; he tore the stock loose at his 
throat and went on: “We were about to fight; I 
lost my nerve; you couldn’t shoot a helpless man. 
We began to talk. We found out we are broth- 


“Damnation!” broke out Lord Nick, and he struck 
himself violently across the forehead with the back 
of his hand. “I’m a skunk, Garry, lad. Why, for 



232 


DONNEGAN 


a minute I was about to let you do it. No, no, no! 
A thousand times no!” 

It was plain to be seen that he was arguing him¬ 
self away from the temptation. 

“What do I care what they say? We'll cram 
the words back down their throats and. be hanged 
to 'em. Here I am worrying about myself like a 
selfish dog without letting myself be happy over 
finding you. But I am happy, Garry. Heaven 
knows it. And you don't doubt it, do you, old 
fellow?” 

“Ah,” said Donnegan, and he smiled to cover a 
touch of sadness. “I hope not. No, I don't doubt 
you, of course. I've spent my life wishing for you 
since you left us, you see. And then I followed 
you for three years on the road, hunting every¬ 
where.” 

“You did that?” 

“Yes. Three years. I liked the careless life. 
For to tell you the truth, I'm not worth much, 
Henry. I’m a loafer by instinct, and-” 

“Not another word.” There were tears in the 
eyes of Lord Nick, and he frowned them away. 
“Confound it, Garry, you unman me. I'll he weep¬ 
ing like a woman in a minute. But now, sit down. 
We still have some things to talk over. And we'll 
get to a quick conclusion.” 

“Ah, yes,” said Donnegan, and at the emotion 
which had come in the face of Lord Nick, his own 
expression softened wonderfully. A light seemed 
to stand in his face. “We'll brush over the inci¬ 
dentals. And everything is incidental aside from 
the fact that we're together again. They can chisel 
iron chain apart, but we’ll never be separated again, 
God willing!” He looked up as he spoke, and his 



HE OPENS HIS HEART 


233 


face was for the moment as pure as the face of a 
child—Donnegan, the thief, the beggar, the liar by 
gift, and the man-killer by trade and artistry. 

But Lord Nick in the meantime was looking down 
to the floor and mustering his thoughts. 

'The main thing is entirely simple/’ he said. 
"You’ll make one concession to my pride, Garry, 
boy?” 

"Can you ask me?” said Donnegan softly, and he 
cast out his hands in a gesture that offered his heart 
and his soul. "Can you ask me? Anything I have 
is yours!” 

"Don’t say that,” answered Lord Nick tenderly. 
"But this small thing—my pride, you know—I de¬ 
spise myself for caring what people think, but I’m 
weak. I admit it, but I can’t help it.” 

"Talk out, man. You’ll see if there’s a bottom 
to things that I can give!” 

"Well, it’s this. Every one knows that I came 
up here to get young Jack Landis and bring him 
back to Lebrun’s—from which you stole him, you 
clever young devil! Well, I’ll simply take him back 
there, Garry; and then I’ll never have to> ask an¬ 
other favor of you.” 

He was astonished by a sudden silence, and 
looking up again, he saw that Donnegan sat with 
his hand at his breast. It was a singularly feminine 
gesture to which he resorted. It was a habit which 
had come to him in his youth in the invalid chair, 
when the ceaseless torment of his crippled back 
became too great for him to bear. 

And clearly, indeed, those days were brought 
home to Lord Nick as he glanced up, for Donnegan 
was staring at him in the same old, familiar agony, 
mute and helpless. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


HE DENIES HIS BROTHER 

A T this Lord Nick very frankly frowned in turn. 

And when he frowned his face grew marvel¬ 
ously dark, like some wrathful god, for there was 
a noble, a Grecian purity to the profile of Henry 
Nicholas Reardon, and when he frowned he seemed 
to be scorning, from a distance, ignoble, earthly 
things which troubled him. 

“I know it isn’t exactly easy for you, Garry,” 
he admitted. “You have your own pride; you have 
your own position here in The Corner. But I want 
you to notice that mine is different. You’ve spent 
a day for what you have in The Corner, here. I’ve 
spent ten years. You’ve played a prank, acted a part, 
and cast a jest for what you have. But for the 
place which I hold, brother mine, I’ve schemed 
with my wits, played fast and loose, and killed 
men. Do you hear? I’ve bought it with blood, and 
things you buy at such a price ought to stick, eh?” 

He banished his frown; the smile played suddenly 
across his features. 

“Why, I’m arguing with myself. But that look 
you gave me a minute ago had me worried for a 
little while.” 

At this Donnegan, who had allowed his head to 
fall, so that he seemed to be nodding in acquiescence, 
now raised his face and Lord Nick perceived the 
same white pain upon it. The same look which had 
been on the face of the cripple so often in the other 
days. 


HE DENIES HIS BROTHER 


235 


“Henry,” said the younger brother, “I give you 
my oath that my pride has nothing to do with this. 
I’d let you drive me barefoot before you through 
the street yonder. Ed let every soul in The Corner 
know that I have no pride where you’re concerned. 
I’ll do whatever you wish—with one exception—and 
that one exception is the unlucky thing you ask. 
Pardner, you mustn’t ask for Jack Landis! Any¬ 
thing else I’ll work like a slave to get for you; I’ll 
fight your battles, I’ll serve you in any way you 
name: but don’t take Landis back!” 

He had talked eagerly, the words coming with 
a rush, and he found at the end that Lord Nick was 
looking at him in bewilderment. 

“When a man is condemned to death,” said Lord 
Nick slowly, “suppose somebody offers him anything 
in the world that he wants—palaces, riches, power— 
everything except his life. What would the con¬ 
demned man say to a friend who made such an offer? 
He’d laugh at him and then call him a traitor. Eh? 
But I don’t laugh at you, Garry. I simply explain 
to you why I have to have Landis back. Listen!” 

He counted off his points upon the tips of his 
fingers, in the confident manner of a teacher who 
deals with a stupid child, waiting patiently for the 
young mind to comprehend. 

“We’ve been bleeding Jack Landis. Do you know 
why? Because it was Lester who made the strike 
up here. He started out to file his claim. He 
stopped at the house of Colonel Macon. That old 
devil learned the location, learned everything; de¬ 
tained Lester with a trick, and rushed young Landis 
away to file the claims for himself. Then when 
Lester came up here he found that his claims had 
been jumped, and when he went to the law there 


236 


DONNEGAN 


was no law that could help him. He had nothing 
but his naked word for what he had discovered. 
And naturally the word of a ruffian like Lester had 
no weight against the word of Landis. And, you 
see, Landis thought that he was entirely in the 
right. Lester tried the other way; tried to jump 
the claims; and was shot down by Landis. So 

Lester sent for me. What was I to do? Kill 

Landis? The mine would go to his heirs. I tried 
a different way—bleeding him of his profits, after 
I’d explained to him that he was in the wrong. 

He half admitted that, but he naturally wouldn’t 
give up the mines even after we’d almost proved to 
him that Lester had the first right. So Landis has 
been mining the gold and we’ve been drawing it 

away from him. It looks tricky, but really it’s only 
just. And Lester and Lebrun split with me. 

“But I tell you, Garry, that I’d give up everything 
without an afterthought. I’ll give up the money 
and I’ll make Lebrun and Lester shut up without a 
word. I’ll make them play square and not try to 
knife Landis in the back. I’ll do all that willingly 
—for you! But, Garry, I can’t give up taking Landis 
back to Lebrun’s and keeping him there until he’s 
well. Why, man, I saw him in the hut just now. 
He wants to go. He’s afraid of the old colonel as 
if he were poison—and I think he’s wise in being 
afraid.” 

“The colonel won’t touch him,” said Donnegan. 

“No?” 

“No. I’ve told him what would happen if he 
does.” 

“Tush. Garry, Colonel Macon is the coldest- 
blooded murderer I’ve ever known. But come out 
in the open, lad. You see that I’m ready to listen 


HE DENIES HIS BROTHER 


237 


to reason—except on one point. Tell me why you’re 
so set on this keeping of Landis here against my 
will and even against the lad’s own will? I’m 
reasonable, Garry. Do you doubt that?” 

Explaining his own mildness, the voice of Lord 
Nick swelled again and filled the room, and he 
frowned on his brother. But Donnegan looked on 
him sadly. 

“There is a girl-” he began. 

“Why didn’t I guess it?” exclaimed Lord Nick. 
“If ever you find a man unreasonable, stubborn and 
foolish, you’ll always find a woman behind it! All 
this trouble because of a piece of calico?” 

He leaned back, laughing thunderously in his 
relief. 

“Come, come! I was prepared for a tragedy. 
Now tell me about this girl. Who and what is she?” 

“The daughter of the colonel.” 

“You’re in love with her? I’m glad to hear it, 
Garry. As a matter of fact I’ve been afraid that 
you were hunting in my own preserve, but if it’s the 
colonel’s daughter, you’re welcome to her. So you 
love the girl? She’s pretty, lad!” 

“I love her?” said Donnegan in an indescribably 
tender voice. “I love her? Who am I to love her? 
A thief, a mankiller, a miserable play actor, a gamb¬ 
ler, a drunkard. I love her? Bah!” 

If there was one quality of the mind with which 
Lord Nick was less familiar than with all others, 
it was humbleness of spirit. He now abased his 
magnificent head, and resting his chin in the mighty 
palm of his hand, he stared with astonishment and 
commiseration into the face of Donnegan. He 
seemed to be learning new things every moment 
about his brother. 



238 


DONNEGAN 


‘‘Leave me out of the question/’ said Donnegan. 

“Can’t be done. If I leave you out, dear boy, 
there’s not one of them that I care a hang about; 
I’d ride roughshod over the whole lot. I’ve done it 
before to better men than these!” 

“Then you’ll change, I know. This is the fact 
of the matter. She loves Landis. And if you take 
Landis away where will you put him?” 

“Where he was stolen away. In Lebrun’s.” 

“And what will be in Lebrun’s?” 

“Joe Rix to guard him and the old negress to 
nurse him.” 

“No, no! Nelly Lebrun will be there!” 

“Eh? Are you glancing at her, now?” 

“Henry, you yourself know that Landis is mad 
about that girl.” 

“Oh, she’s flirted a bit with him. Turned the 
fool’s head. He’ll come out of it safe. She won’t 
break his heart. I’ve seen her work on others!” 

He chuckled at the memory. 

“What do I care about Landis?” said Donnegan 
with unutterable scorn. “It’s the girl. You’ll break 
her heart, Henry; and if you do I’ll never forgive 
you.” 

“Steady, lad. This is a good deal like a threat.” 

“No, no, no! Not a threat, Heaven knows!” 

“By Heaven!” exclaimed Lord Nick. “I begin to 
be irritated to see you stick on a silly point like this. 
Listen to me, lad. Do you mean to say that you 
are making all this trouble about a slip of a girl?” 

“The heart of a girl,” said Donnegan calmly. 

“Let Landis go; then take her in your arms and 
kiss her worries away. I warrant you can do it! 
I gather from Nell that you’re not tongue-tied 
around women!” 


HE DENIES HIS BROTHER 


239 


*‘1?” echoed Donnegan, turning pale. “Don’t jest 
at this, Henry. I’m as serious as death. She’s the 
type of woman made to love one man, and one man 
only. Landis may be common as dirt; but she 
doesn’t see it. She’s fastened her heart on him. I 
looked in on her a little while ago. She turned white 
when she saw me. I brought Landis to her, but 
she hates me because I had to shoot him down.” 

“Garry,” said the big man with a twinkle in his 
eye, “you’re in love!” 

It shook Donnegan to the core, but he replied in¬ 
stantly: “If I were in love, don’t you suppose that 
I would have shot to kill when I met Landis?” 

At this his brother blinked, frowned, and shook 
his head. The point was apparently plain to him 
and wiped out his previous convictions. Also, it 
eased his mind. 

“Then you don’t love the girl?” 

“I?” 

“Either way, my hands are cleared of the worry. 
If you want her, let me take Landis. If you don’t 
want her, what difference does it make to you except 
silly sentiment?” 

Donnegan made no answer. 

“If she comes to Lebrun’s house, I’ll see that Nell 
doesn’t bother him too much.” 

“Can you control her? If she wants to see this 
fool can you keep her away, and if she goes to 
him can you control her smiling?” 

“Certainly,” said Lord Nick, but he flushed 
heavily. 

Donnegan smiled. 

“She’s a devil of a girl,” admitted Henry Rear¬ 
don. “But this is beside the point: which is, that 
you’re sticking on a matter that means everything to 


240 


DONNEGAN 


me, and which is only a secondhand interest to you 
—a point of sentiment. You pity the girl. What’s 
pity? Bah! I pity a dog in the street, but would I 
cross you, Garry, lad, to save the dog? Sentiment, 
I say, silly sentiment.” 

Donnegan rose. 

“It was a silly sentiment,” he said hoarsely, “that 
put me on the road following you, Henry. It was 
a silly sentiment that turned me into a wastrel, a 
wanderer, a man without a home and without 
friends.” 

“It’s wrong to throw that in my face,” muttered 
Lord Nick. 

“It is. And I’m sorry for it. But I want you 
to see that matters of sentiment may be matters of 
life and death with me.” 

“Aye, if it were for you it would be different. 
I might see my way clear—but for a girl you have 
only a distant interest in-” 

“It is a matter of whether or not her heart shall 
be broken.” 

“Come, come. Let’s talk man talk. Besides, 
girls’ hearts don’t break in this country. You’re 
old-fashioned.” 

“I tell you the question of her happiness is worth 
more than a dozen lives like yours and mine.” 

There had been a gathering impatience in Lord 
Nick. Now he, also, leaped to his feet; a giant. 

“Tell me in one word: You stick on this point?” 

“In one word—yes!” 

“Then you deny me, Garry. You set me aside for 
a silly purpose of your own—a matter that really 
doesn’t mean much to you. It shows me where I 
stand in your eyes—and nothing between the devil 
and the moon shall make me side-step!” 



HE DENIES HIS BROTHER 


241 


They remained silent, staring at each other. Lord 
Nick stood with a flush of anger growing; Donnegan 
became whiter than ever, and he stiffened himself 
to his full height, which, in all who knew him well, 
was the danger signal. 

“You take Landis?” he said softly. 

“I do.” 

“Not,” said Donnegan, “while I live!” 

“You mean-” cried Lord Nick. 

“I mean it!” 

They had been swept back to the point at which 
that strangest of scenes began, but this time there 
was an added element—horror. 

“You’d fight?” 

“To the death, Henry!” 

“Garry, if one of us should kill the other, he’d 
be cursed forever!” 

“I know it.” 

“And she’s worth even this?” 

“A thousand times more! What are we? Dust 
in the wind; dust in the wind. But a woman like 
that is divine, Henry!” 

Lord Nick swayed a little, setting himself in bal¬ 
ance like an animal preparing for the leap. 

“If it comes to the pinch, it is you who will die,” 
he said. “You’ve no chance against me, Garry. 
And I swear to you that I won’t weaken. You 
prove that you don’t care for me. You put another 
above me. It’s my pride, my life, that you’d sacri¬ 
fice to the whim of a girl!” His passion choked 
him. 

“Are you ready?” said Donnegan. 

“Yes!” 

“Move first!” 

“I have never formed the habit.” 



242 


DONNEGAN 


“Nor I? You fool, take what little advantage 
you can, because it won’t help you in the end.” 

“You shall see. I have a second sight, Henry, 
and it shows me you dead on the floor there, look¬ 
ing bigger than ever, and I see the gun smoking in 
my hand and my heart as dead as ashes! Oh, 
Henry, if there were only some other way!” 

They were both pale now. 

“Aye,” murmured Lord Nick, “if we could find 
a judge. My hand turns to lead when I think of 
fighting you, Garry.” 

Perspiration stood on the face of Donnegan. 

“Name a judge; Fll abide by the decision.” 

“Some man-” 

“No, no. What man could understand me? A 
woman, Henry!” 

“Nell Lebrun.” 

“The girl who loves you? You want me to plead 
before her?” 

“Put her on her honor and she’ll be as straight as 
a string with both of us.” 

For a moment Donnegan considered, and at 
length: “She loves you, Henry. You have that ad¬ 
vantage. You have only to let her know that this 
is a vital matter to you and she’ll speak as you 
wish her to speak.” 

“Nonsense. You don’t know her. You’ve seen 
yourself that no man can control her absolutely.” 

“Make a concession.” 

“A thousand, Garry, dear boy, if they’ll get us 
clear from this horrible mess.” 

“Only this. Leave The Corner for a few hours. 
Give me until—to-night. Let me see Nelly during 
that time. You’ve had years to work on her. I 
want only this time to put my own case before her.” 



HE DENIES HIS BROTHER 


243 


“Thank Heaven that weTe coming to see light 
and a way out!” 

“Aye, Henry.” 

The big man wiped his forehead and sighed in 
his relief. 

“A minute ago I was ready—but we’ll forget 
all this. What will you do? How will you per¬ 
suade Nelly? I almost think that you intend to 
make love to her, Garry!” 

The little man turned paler still. 

“It is exactly what I intend,” he said quietly. 

The brow of Lord Nick darkened solemnly, and 
then he forced a laugh. 

“She’ll be afraid to turn me down, Garry. But 
try your own way.” He bit his lips. “Why, if you 
influence her that way—do it. What’s a fickle jade 
to me? Nothing!” 

“However I do it, you’ll stick by her judgment, 
Henry?” 

The perspiration had started on Lord Nick’s fore¬ 
head again. Doubt swayed him, but pride forced 
him on. 

“I’ll come again to-night,” he said gloomily. “I’ll 
meet you in—Milligan’s?” 

“In Milligan’s, then.” 

Lord Nick, without a word of farewell, stamped 
across the hut and out. 

As for Donnegan, he stepped backward, his legs 
buckled beneath him, and when big George entered, 
with a scared face, he found the little man half 
sitting on the bunk, half lying against the wall with 
the face and the staring eyes of a dead man. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


HE ENTERS THE BLACK PIT 

I T was a long time before Donnegan left the hut, 
and when he came out the crowd which had 
gathered to watch the fight, or at least to mark 
the reports of the guns when those two terrible 
warriors met, was scattered. There remained be¬ 
fore Donnegan only the colonel in his invalid’s chair. 
Even from the distance one could see that his ex¬ 
pression was changed, and when the little red-headed 
man came near the colonel looked up to him with 
something akin to humility. 

“Donnegan,” he said, stopping the other as Don¬ 
negan headed for the door of the hut, “Donnegan, 
don’t go in there just now.” 

Donnegan turned and came slowly toward him. 
“The reason,” said the colonel, “is that you prob¬ 
ably won’t receive a very cheery reception. Un¬ 
fortunate—very unfortunate. Lou has turned 
wrong-headed for the first time in her life and she 
won’t listen to reason.” 

He chuckled softly. 

“I never dreamed there was so much of my metal 
in her. Blood will tell, my boy; blood will tell. 
And when you finally get her you’ll find that she’s 
worth waiting for.” 

“Let me tell you a secret,” said Donnegan dryly. 
“I am no longer waiting for her!” 

“Ah?” smiled the colonel. “Of course not. This 
bringing of Landis to her—it was all pure self- 


HE ENTERS THE BLACK PIT 


245 


sacrifice. It was not an attempt to soften her heart. 
It was not a cunning maneuver. Tush! Of course 
not!” 

“I am about to make a profound remark/’ said 
Donnegan carelessly. 

“By all means.” 

“You read the minds of other people through a 
colored glass, colonel. You see yourself every¬ 
where.” 

“In other words I put my own motives into the 
actions and behind the actions of people? Perhaps. 
I am full of weaknesses. Very full. In the mean¬ 
time let me tell you one important thing—if you 
have not made the heart of Lou tender toward you, 
you have at least frightened her.” 

The jaw of Donnegan set. 

“Excellent!” he said huskily. 

“Perhaps better than you think; and to keep you 
abreast with the times, you must know another thing. 
Lou has a silly idea that you are a lost soul, Don¬ 
negan, but she attributes your fall entirely to my 
weakness. Nothing can convince her that you did 
not intend to kill Landis; nothing can convince her 
that you did not act on my inspiration. I have tried 
arguing. Bah! she overwhelmed me with her scorn. 
You are a villain, says Lou, and I have made you 
one. And for the first time in my memory of her, 
her eyes fill with tears.” 

“Tears?” 

“Upon my honor, and when a girl begins to weep 
about a man I don’t need to say he is close to her 
heart.” 

“You are full of maxims, Colonel Macon.” 

“As a nut is full of meat. Old experience, you 
know. In the meantime Lou is perfectly certain 


246 


DONNEGAN 


that I intend to make away with Landis. Ha, ha, 
ha!” The laughter of the colonel was a cheery 
thunder, and soft as with distance. “Landis is 
equally convinced. He begs Lou not to fall asleep 
lest I should steal in on him. She hardly dares 
leave him to cook his food. I actually think she 
would have been glad to see that fiend, Lord Nick, 
take Landis away!” 

Donnegan smiled wanly. But could he tell her, 
poor girl, the story of Nelly Lebrun? Landis, in 
fear of his life, was no doubt at this moment pouring 
out protestations of deathless affection. 

“And they both consider you an archdemon for 
keeping Lord Nick away!” 

Again Donnegan winced, and coughed behind his 
hand to cover it. 

“However,” went on the colonel, “when it comes 
to matters with the hearts of women, I trust to 
time. Time alone will show her that Landis is a 
puppy.” 

“In the meantime, colonel, she keeps you from 
coming near Landis?” 

“Not at all! You fail to understand me and 
my methods, dear boy. I have only to roll my 
chair into the room and sit and smile at Jack in 
order to send him into an hysteria of terror. It is 
amusing to -watch. And I can be there while Lou 
is in the room and through a few careful innuen¬ 
does convey to Landis my undying determination to 
either remove him from my path and automatically 
become his heir, or else secure from him a legal 
transfer of his rights to the mines.” 

“I have learned,” said Donnegan, “that Landis 
has not the slightest claim to them himself. And 


HE ENTERS THE BLACK PIT 


247 

that you set him on the trail of the claims by 
trickery.” 

The colonel did not wince. 

“Of course not/’ said the fat trickster. “Not the 
slightest right. My claim is a claim of superior wits, 
you see. And in the end all your labor shall be 
rewarded, for my share will go to Lou and through 
her it shall come to you. No?” 

“Quite logical.” 

The colonel disregarded the other's smile. 

“But I have a painful confession to make.” 

“Well?” 

“I misjudged you, Donnegan. A moment since, 
when I was nearly distraught with disappointment, 
I said some most unpleasant things to you.” 

“I have forgotten them.” 

But the colonel raised his strong forefinger and 
shook his head, smiling. 

“No, no, Donnegan. If you deny it, I shall know 
that you are harboring the most undying grudge 
against me. As a matter of fact, I have just had an 
interview with Lord Nick, and the cursed fellow 
put my nerves on edge.” 

The colonel made a wry face. 

“And when you came, I saw no manner in which 
you could possibly thwart him.” 

His eyes grew wistful. 

“Between friends-—as a son to his future father,” 
he said softly, “can’t you tell me what the charm 
was that you used on Nick to send him away? I 
watched him come out of the shack. He was in a 
fury. I could see that by the way his head thrust 
out between his big shoulders. And when he went 
down the hill he was striding like a giant, but every 
now and then he would stop short, and his head 


248 


DONNEGAN 


would go up as if he were tempted to turn around 
and go back, but didn’t quite have the nerve. Don- 
negan, tell me the trick of it?” 

“Willingly. I appealed to his gambling instinct.” 

“Which leaves me as much in the dark as ever.” 

But Donnegan smiled in his own peculiar and 
mirthless manner and he went on to the hut. Not 
that he expected a cheery greeting from Lou Macon, 
but he was drawn by the same perverse instinct 
which tempts a man to throw himself from the 
great height. At the door he paused a moment. 
He could distinguish no words, but he caught the 
murmur of Lou’s voice as she talked to Jack Landis, 
and it had that infinitely gentle quality which only 
a woman’s voice can have, and only when she nurses 
the sick. It was a pleasant torture to Donnegan 
to hear it. At length he summoned his resolution 
and tapped at the door. 

The voice of Lou Macon stopped. He heard a 
hurried and whispered consultation. What did they 
expect? Then swift footfalls on the floor, and she 
opened the door. There was a smile of expectancy 
on her lips; her eyes were bright; but when she saw 
Donnegan her lips pinched in. She stared at him as 
if he were a ghost. 

“I knew; I knew!” she said piteously, falling back 
a step but still keeping her hand upon the knob 
of the door as if to block the way to Donnegan. 
“Oh, Jack, he has killed Lord Nick and now he is 
here-” 

To do what? To kill Landis in turn? Her hor¬ 
rified eyes implied as much. He saw Landis in the 
distance raise himself upon one elbow and his face 
was gray, not with pain but with dread. 

“It can’t be!” groaned Landis. 



HE ENTERS THE BLACK PIT 


249 


“Lord Nick is alive/’ said Donnegan. “And I 
have not come here to torment you; I have only 
come to ask that you let me speak with you alone 
for a moment, Lou!” 

He watched her face intently. All the cabin was 
in deep shadow, but the golden hair of the girl 
glowed as if with an inherent light of its own, and 
the same light touched her face. Jack Landis was 
stricken with panic; he stammered in a dreadful 
eagerness of fear. 

“Don’t leave me, Lou. You know what it means. 
He wants to get you out of the way so that the 
colonel can be alone with me. Don’t go, Lou! 
Don’t go!” 

As though she saw how hopeless it was to try 
to bar Donnegan by closing the door against him, 
she fell back to the bed. She kept her eye on the 
little man, as if to watch against a surprise attack, 
and, fumbling behind her, her hand found the hand 
of Landis and closed over it with the reassurance 
of a mother. 

“Don’t be afraid, Jack. I won’t leave you. Not 
unless they carry me away by force.” 

“I give you my solemn word,” said Donnegan in 
torment, “that the colonel shall not come near Landis 
while you’re away with me.” 

“Your word!” murmured the girl with a sort of 
horrified wonder. “Your word!” 

And Donnegan bowed his head. 

But all at once she cast out her free hand toward 
him, while the other still cherished the weakness of 
Jack Landis. 

“Oh, give them up!” she cried. “Give up my 
father and all his wicked plans. There is something 


250 


DONNEGAN 


good in you. Give him up; come with us; stand for 
us; and we shall be grateful all our lives!” 

The little man had removed his hat, so that the 
sunshine burned brightly on his red hair. Indeed, 
there was always a flamelike quality about him. In 
inaction he seemed femininely frail and pale; but 
when his spirit was roused his eyes blazed as his 
hair burned in the sunlight. 

“You shall learn in the end,” he said to the girl, 
“that everything I do, I do for you.” 

She cried out as if he had struck her. 

“It’s not worthy of you,” she said bitterly. “You 
are keeping Jack here—in peril—for my sake?” 

“For your sake,” said Donnegan. 

She looked at him with a queer pain in her eyes. 

“To keep you from needless lying,” she said, “let 
me tell you that Jack has told me everything. I am 
not angry because you come and pretend that you 
do all these horrible things for my sake. I know 
my father has tempted you with a promise of a 
great deal of money. But in the end you will get 
nothing. No, he will twist everything away from 
you and leave you nothing! But as for me—I 
know everything; Jack told me.” 

“He has told you what? What?” 

“About the woman you love.” 

“The woman I love?” echoed Donnegan, stupe¬ 
fied. 

It seemed that Lou Macon could only name her 
with an effort that left her trembling. 

“The Lebrun woman,” she said. “Jack has told 
me.” 

“Did you tell her that?” he asked Landis. 

“The whole town knows it,” stammered the 
wounded man. 


HE ENTERS THE BLACK PIT 


251 


The cunning hypocrisy spurred Donnegan. He 
put his foot on the threshold of the shack, and at 
this the girl cried out and shrank from him; but 
Landis was too paralyzed to stir or speak'. For a 
moment Donnegan was wildly tempted to pour his 
torrent, of contempt and accusation upon Landis. 
To what end? To prove to the girl that the big 
fellow had coolly tricked her? That it was to be 
near Nelly Lebrun as much as to be away from the 
colonel that he wished so ardently to leave the 
shack? After all, Lou Macon was made happy by 
an illusion; let her keep it. 

He looked at her sadly again. She stood defiant 
over Landis; ready to protect the helpless bulk of 
the man. 

So Donnegan closed the door softly and turned 
away with ashes in his heart. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


HE IS TALKED OF 

W HEN Nelly Lebrun raised her head from her 
hands, Donnegan was a far figure; yet even 
in the distance she could catch the lilt and easy 
sway of his body; he rode as he walked, lightly, his 
feet in the stirrups half taking his weight in a 
semi-English fashion. For a moment she was on 
the verge of spurring after him, but she kept the 
rein taut and merely stared until he dipped away 
among the hills. For one thing she was quite as¬ 
sured that she could not overtake that hard rider; 
and, again, she felt that it was useless to- interfere. 
To step between Lord Nick and one of his purposes 
would have been like- stepping before an avalanche 
and commanding it to halt with a raised hand. 

She watched miserably until even the dust cloud 
dissolved and the bare, brown hills alone remained 
before her. Then she turned away, and hour after 
hour let her black jog on. 

To Nelly Lebrun this day was one of those still 
times which come over the life of a person, and in 
which they see themselves in relation to the rest of 
the world clearly. It would not be true to say that 
Nelly loved Donnegan. Certainly not as yet, for 
the familiar figure of Lord Nick filled her imagina¬ 
tion. But the little man was different. Lord Nick 
commanded respect, admiration, obedience; but there 
was about Donnegan something which touched her 
in an intimate and disturbing manner. She had 


HE IS TALKED OF 


253 


felt the will-o’-the-wisp flame which burned in him 
in his great moments. It was possible for her to 
smile at Donnegan; it was possible to even pity him 
for his fragility, his touchy pride about his size; to 
criticize his fondness for taking the center of the 
stage even in a cheap little mining camp like this 
and strutting about, the center of all attention. Yet 
there were qualities in him which escaped her, a 
possibility of metallic hardness, a pitiless fire of pur¬ 
pose. 

To Lord Nick, he was as the bull terrier to the 
mastiff. 

But above all she could not dislodge the memory 
of his strange talk with her at Lebrun’s. Not that 
she did not season the odd avowals of Donnegan 
with a grain of salt, but even when she had dis¬ 
counted all that he said, she retained a quivering 
interest. Somewhere beneath his words she sensed 
reality. Somewhere beneath his actions she felt a 
selfless willingness to throw himself away. 

As she rode she was comparing him steadily with 
Lord Nick. And as she made the comparisons she 
felt more and more assured that she could pick and 
choose between the two. They loved her, both of 
them. With Nick it was an old story; with Donne¬ 
gan it might be equally true in spite of its newness. 
And Nelly Lebrun felt rich. Not that she would 
have been willing to give up Lord Nick. By no 
means. But neither was she willing to throw away 
Donnegan. Diamonds in one hand and pearls in 
the other. Which handful must she discard? 

She remained riding an unconscionable length of 
time, and when she drew rein again before her 
father’s house, the black was flecked with foam from 


2 54 


DONNEGAN 


his clamped bit, and there was a thick lather under 
the stirrup leathers. She threw the reins to the 
servant who answered her call and went slowly into 
the house. 

Donnegan, by this time, was dead. She began 
to feel that it would be hard to look Lord Nick in 
the face again. His other killings had often seemed 
to her glorious. She had rejoiced in the invincibility 
of her lover. 

Now he suddenly took on the aspect of a mur¬ 
derer. 

She found the house hushed. Perhaps every one 
was at the gaming house; for now it was mid-after¬ 
noon. But when she opened the door to the apart¬ 
ment which they used as a living room she found 
Joe Rix and The Pedlar and Lester sitting side by 
side, silent. There was no whisky in sight; there 
were no cards to be seen. Marvel of marvels, these 
three men were spending their time in solemn 
thought. A sudden thought rushed over her, and 
her cry told where her heart really lay, at least at 
this time. 

“Lord Nick—has he been ——■” 

The Pedlar lifted his gaunt head and stared at 
her without expression. It was Joe Rix who an¬ 
swered. 

“Nick’s upstairs.” 

“Safe?” 

“Not a scratch.” 

She sank into a chair with a sigh, but was in¬ 
stantly on edge again with the second thought. 

“Donnegan?” she whispered. 

“Safe and sound,” said Lester coldly. 

She could not gather the truth of the statement. 



HE IS TALKED OF 


255 

“Then Nick got Landis back before Donnegan 
returned ?” 

“No*” 

Like any other girl, Nelly Lebrun hated a puzzle 
above all things in the world, at least a puzzle which 
affected her new friends. 

“Lester, what’s happened?” she demanded. 

At this Lester, who had been brooding upon the 
floor, raised his eyes and then switched one leg over 
the other. He was a typical cowman, was Lester, 
from his crimson handkerchief knotted around his 
throat to his shop-made boots which fitted slenderly 
about his instep with the care of a gloved hand. 

“I dunno what happened,” said Lester. “Which 
looks like what counts is the things that didn’t hap¬ 
pen. Landis is still with that devil, Macon. Don¬ 
negan is loose without a scratch, and Lord Nick is 
in his room with a face as black as a cloudy night.” 

And briefly he described how Lord Nick had gone 
up the hill, seen the colonel, come back, taken a 
horse litter, and gone up the hill again, while the 
populace of The Corner waited for a crash. For 
Donnegan had arrived in the meantime. And how 
Nick had gone into the cabin, remained a singularly 
long time, and then come out, with a face half 
white and half red and an eye that dared any one to 
ask questions. He had strode straight home to Le¬ 
brun’s and gone to his room; and there he remained, 
never making a sound. 

“But I’ll give you my way of readin* the sign on 
that trail,” said Lester. “Nick goes up the hill to 
clean up on Donnegan. He sees him; they size 
each other up in a flash; they figure that if they’s a 
gun it means a double killin’—(and they simply haul 
off and say a perlite fare-thee-well.” 


256 


DONNEGAN 


The girl paid no attention to these remarks. She 
was sunk in a brown study. 

“There’s something behind it all/’ she said, more 
to herself than to the men. “Nick is proud as the 
devil himself. And I can’t imagine why he’d let 
Donnegan go. Oh, it might have been done if they’d 
met alone in the desert. But with the whole town 
looking on and waiting for Nick to clean up on 
Donnegan—no, it isn’t possible. There must have 
been a show-down of some kind.” 

There wa£ a grim little silence after this. 

“Maybe there was,” said The Pedlar dryly. 
“Maybe there was a show-down—and the wind-up 
of it is that Nick comes home meek as a six-year-old 
broke down in front.” 

She stared at him, first astonished, and then almost 
frightened. 

“You mean that Nick may have taken water?” 

The three, as one man, shrugged their shoulders, 
and met her glance with cold eyes. 

“You fools!” cried the girl, springing to her feet. 
“He’d rather die!” 

Joe Rix leaned forward, and to emphasize his 
point he stabbed one dirty forefinger into the fat 
palm of his other hand. 

“You just start thinkin’ back,” he said solemnly, 
“and you’ll remember that Donnegan has done some 
pretty slick things.” 

Lester added with a touch of contempt: “Like 
shootin’ down Landis one day and then siftin' down 
and havin’ a nice long chat with you the next. I 
dunno how he does it.” 

“That hunch of yours,” said the girl fiercely, 
“ought to be roped and branded—lie! Lester, don’t 
look at me like that. And if you think Nick has lost 


HE IS TALKED OF 


257 


his grip on things you’re dead wrong. Step light, 
Lester—and the rest of you. Or Nick may hear 
you walk—and think.” 

She flung out of the room and raced up the 
stairs to Lord Nick’s room. There was an interval 
without response after her first knock. But when 
she rapped again he called out to know who was 
there. At her answer she heard his heavy stride 
cross the room, and the door opened slowly. His 
face, as she looked up to it, was so changed that 
she hardly knew him. His hair was unkempt, on 
end, where he had sat with his fingers thrust into it, 
buried in thought. And the marks of his palms 
were red upon his forehead. 

“Nick,” she whispered, frightened, “what is it?” 

He looked down half fiercely, half sadly at her. 
And though his lips parted they closed again before 
he spoke. Fear jumped coldly in Nelly Lebrun. 

“Did Donnegan-” she pleaded, white-faced. 

“Did he-” 

“Did he bluff me out?” finished Nick. “No, he 
didn’t. That’s what everybody’ll s'ay. I know it, 
don’t I? And that’s why I’m staying here by my¬ 
self, because the first fool that looks at me with a 
question in his face, why—I’ll break him in two.” 

She pressed close to him, more frightened than 
before. That Lord Nick should have been driven 
to defend himself with words was almost too much 
for credence. 

“You know I don’t believe it, Nick? You know 
that I’m not doubting you?” 

But he brushed her hands roughly away. 

“You want to know what it’s all about? Then 
go over to—well, to Milligan’s. Donnegan will be 
there. He’ll explain things to you, I guess. He 




258 


DONNEGAN 


wants to see you. And maybe I’ll come over later 
and join you.” 

Seeing Lord Nick before her, so shaken, so gray 
of face, so dull of eye, she pictured Donnegan as 
a devil in human form, cunning, resistless. 

“Nick, dear-” she pleaded. 

He closed the door in her face, and she heard 
his heavy step go back across the room. In some 
mysterious manner she felt the Promethean fire had 
been stolen from Lord Nick, and Donnegan’s was 
the hand that had robbed him of it. 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

HE TELLS NEW LIES 

IT was fear that Nelly Lebrun felt first of all. 
I* It was fear because the impossible had happened 
and the immovable object had been at last moved. 
Going back to her own room, the record of Lord 
Nick flashed across her mind; one long series of 
thrilling deeds. He had been a great and widely 
known figure on the mountain desert while she her¬ 
self was n& more than a girl. When she first met 
him she had been prepared for the sight of a fire¬ 
breathing monster; and she had never quite recov¬ 
ered from the first thrill of finding him not devil 
but man. 

Quite oddly, now that there seemed another man 
as powerful as Lord Nick or even more terrible, she 
felt for the big man more tenderly than ever; for 
like all women, there was a corner of her heart into 
which she wished to receive a thing she could cherish 
and protect. Lord Nick, the invincible, had seemed 
without any real need of other human beings. His 
love for her had seemed unreal because his need of 
her seemed a superficial thing. Now that he was in 
sorrow and defeat she suddenly visualized a Lord 
Nick to whom she could truly be a helpmate. Tears 
came to her eyes at the thought. 

Yet, very contradictorily and very humanly, the 
moment she was in her room she began preparing 
her toilet for that evening at Lebrun’s. Let no one 
think that she was already preparing to cast Lord 


26 o 


DONNEGAN 


Nick away and turn to the new star in the sky of 
the mountain desert By no means. No doubt her 
own heart was not quite clear to Nelly. Indeed, 
she put on her most lovely gown with a desire for 
revenge. If Lord Nick had been humbled by this 
singular Donnegan, would it not be a perfect re¬ 
venge to bring Donnegan himself to her feet? 
Would it not be a joy to see him turn pale under 
her smile, and then, when he was well-nigh on his 
knees, spurn the love which he offered her? 

She set her teeth and her eyes gleamed with the 
thought. But nevertheless she went on lavishing 
care in the preparation for that night. 

As she visioned the scene, the many curious eyes 
that watched her with Donnegan; the keen envy in 
the faces of the women; the cold watchfulness of 
the men, were what she pictured. 

In a way she almost regretted that she was ad¬ 
mired by such fighting men, Landis, Lord Nick, and 
now Donnegan, who frightened away the rank and 
file of other would-be admirers. But it was a pang 
which she could readily control and subdue. 

To tell the truth the rest of the day dragged 
through a weary length. At the dinner table her 
father leaned to her and talked in his usual murmur¬ 
ing voice which could reach her own ear and no 
other by any chance. 

“Nelly, there’s going to be the devil to pay around 
The Corner. You know why. Now, be a good girl 
and wise girl and play your cards. Donnegan is 
losing his head; he’s losing it over you. So play 
your cards.” 

“Turn down Nick and take up Donnegan?” she 
asked coldly. 

“I’ve said enough already,” said her father, and 


HE TELLS NEW LIES 


261 


would not speak again. But it was easy to see that 
he already felt Lord Nick’s start to be past its full 
glory. 

Afterward, Lebrun himself took his daughter over 
to Milligan’s and left her under the care of the 
dance-hall proprietor. 

“I’m waiting for some one,” said Nelly, and Mil¬ 
ligan sat willingly at her table and made talk. He 
was like the rest of The Corner—full of the subject 
of the strange encounter between Lord Nick and 
Donnegan. What had Donnegan done to the big 
man? Nelly merely smiled and said they would all 
know in time; one thing was certain—Lord Nick 
had not taken water. But at this Milligan smiled 
behind his hand. 

Ten minutes later there was that stir which an¬ 
nounced the arrival of some public figures; and Don¬ 
negan with big George behind him came into the 
room. This evening he went straight to the table 
to Nelly Lebrun. Milligan, a little uneasy, rose. 
But Donnegan was gravely polite and regretted that 
he had interrupted. 

“I have only come to ask you for five minutes of 
your time,” he said to the girl. 

She was about to put him oft merely to make sure 
of her hold over him, but something she saw in his 
face fascinated her. She could not play her game. 
Milligan had slipped away before she knew it, and 
Donnegan was in his place at the table. He was 
as much changed as Lord Nick, she thought. Not 
that his clothes were less carefully arranged than 
ever, but in the compression oi his lips and some¬ 
thing behind his eyes she felt the difference. She 
would have given a great deal indeed to have learned 


262 


DONNEGAN 


what went on behind the door of Donnegan’s shack 
when Lord Nick was there. 

“Last time you asked for one minute and stayed 
half an hour,” she said. “This time it’s five min¬ 
utes.” 

No matter what was on his mind he was able 
to answer fully as lightly. 

“When I talk about myself, I’m always long- 
winded.” 

“To-night it’s some one else?” 

“Yes.” 

She was, being a woman, intensely disappointed, 
but her smile was as bright as ever. 

“Of course I’m listening.” 

“You remember what I told you of Landis and 
the girl on the hill?” 

“She seems to stick in your thoughts, Mr. Don- 
negan.” 

“Yes, she's a lovely child.” 

And by his frankness he very cunningly disarmed 
her. Even if he had hesitated an instant she would 
have been on the track of the truth, but he had 
foreseen the question and his reply came back 
instantly. 

He added: “Also, what I say has to do with Lord 
Nick.” 

“Ah,” said the girl a little coldly. 

Donnegan went on. He had chosen frankness to 
be his role and he played it to the full. 

“It is a rather wonderful story,” he went on. 
“You know that Lord Nick went up the hill for 
Landis? And The Corner was standing around 
waiting for him to bring the youngster down?” 

“Of course.” 


HE TELLS NEW LIES 263 

“There was only one obstacle—which you had so 
kindly removed—myself.’’ 

“For your own sake, Mr. Donnegan.” 

“Ah, don’t you suppose that I know?” And his 
voice touched her. “He came to kill me. And no 
doubt he could have done so.” 

Such frankness shocked her into a new attention. 

Perhaps Donnegan overdid his part a little at this 
point, for in her heart of hearts she knew that the 
little man would a thousand times rather die than 
give way to any living man. 

“But I threw my case bodily before him—the girl 
—her love for Landis—and the fear which revolved 
around your own unruly eyes, you know, if he were 
sent back to your father’s house. I placed it all be¬ 
fore him. At first he was for fighting at once. 
But the story appealed to him. He pitied the girl. 
And in the end he decided to let the matter be 
judged by a third person. He suggested a man. 
But I know that a man would see in my attitude 
nothing but foolishness. No man could have appre¬ 
ciated the position of that girl on the hill. I myself 
named another referee—yourself.” 

She gasped. 

“And so I have come to place the question before 
you, because I know that you will decide honestly.” 

“Then I shall be honest,” said the girl 

She was thinking: Why not have Landis back? 
It would keep the three men revolving around her. 
Landis on his feet and well would have been noth¬ 
ing; either of these men would have killed him. 
But Landis sick she might balance in turn against 
them both. Nelly had the instincts of a fencer; 
she loved balance. 

But Donnegan was heaping up his effects. For 


264 


DONNEGAN 


by the shadow in her eyes he well knew what was 
passing through her mind, and he dared not let her 
speak too quickly. 

“There is more hanging upon it. In the first 
place, if Landis is left with the girl it gives the 
colonel a chance to work on him, and like as not the 
colonel will get the young fool to sign away the 
mines to him—frighten him, you see, though I’ve 
made sure that the colonel will not actually harm 
him.” 

“How have you made sure? They say the colonel 
is a devil.” 

“I have spoken with him. The colonel is not 
altogether without sensibility to fear.” 

She caught the glint in the little man’s eye and 
she believed. 

“So much for that. Landis is safe, but his money 
may not be. Another thing still hangs upon your 
decision. Lord Nick wanted to know why I trusted 
to you? Because I felt you were honest. Why did 
I feel that? There was nothing to do. Besides, how 
could I conceal myself from such a man? I spoke 
frankly and told him that I trusted you because 
I love you.” 

She closed her hand hard on the edge of the 
table to steady herself. 

“And he made no move at you?” 

“He restrained himself.” 

“Lord Nick?” gasped the incredulous girl. 

. “He is a gentleman,” said Donnegan with a 
singular pride which she could not understand. 

He went on: “And unfortunately I fear that if 
you decide in favor of my side of the argument, I 
fear that Lord Nick will feel that you—that 



HE TELLS NEW LIES 265 

He was apparently unable to complete his sen¬ 
tence. 

“He will feel that you no longer care for him,” 
said Donnegan at length. 

The girl pondered him with cloudy eyes. 

“What is behind all this frankness?” she asked 
coldly. 

“I shall tell you. Hopelessness is behind it. Last 
night I poured my heart at your feet. And I had 
hope. To-day I have seen Lord Nick and I no 
longer hope.” 

“Ah?” 

“He is worthy of a lovely woman’s affection; and 

I-” He called her attention to himself with a 

deprecatory gesture. 

“Do you ask me to hurt him like this?” said the 
girl. “His pride is the pride of the fiend. Love 
me? He would hate me!” 

“It might be true. Still I know you would risk 
it, because-” he paused, 

“Well?” asked the girl, whispering in her excite¬ 
ment. 

“Because you are a lady.” 

He bowed to her. 

“Because you are fair; because you are honest, 
Nelly Lebrun. Personally I think that you can win 
Lord Nick back with one minute of smiling. But 
you might not. You might alienate him forever. It 
will be clumsy to explain to him that you were 
influenced not by me, but by justice. He will make 
it a personal matter, whereas you and I know that it 
is only the right that you are seeing.” 

She propped her chin on the tips of her fingers, 
and her arm was a thing of grace. For the last 
moments that clouded expression had not cleared. 




DONNEGAN 


266 

“If I only could read your mind,” she murmured 
now. “There is something behind it all.” 

“I shall tell you what it is. It is the restraint 
that has fallen upon me. It is because I wish to 
lean closer to you across the table ana speak to 
you of things which are at the other end of the 
world from Landis and the other girl. It is be¬ 
cause I have to keep my hands gripped hard to 
control myself. Because, though I have given up 
hope, I would follow a forlorn chance, a lost cause, 
and tell you again and again that I love you, Nelly 
Lebrun!” 

He had half lowered his eyes as he spoke; he had 
called up a vision, and the face of Lou Macon 
hovered dimly between him and Nelly Lebrun. If 
all that he spoke was a lie, let him be forgiven for 
it; it was to the golden-haired girl whom he ad¬ 
dressed, and it was she who gave the tremor and 
the fiber to his voice. And after all was he not 
pleading for her happiness as he believed? 

He covered his eyes with his hand; but when he 
looked up again she could see the shadow of the 
pain which was slowly passing. She had never 
seen such emotion in any man's face, and if it was 
for another, how could she guess it? Her blood was 
singing in her veins, and the old, old question was 
flying back and forth through her brain like a shut¬ 
tle through a loom: Which shall it be? 

She called up the picture of Lord Nick, half 
broken, but still terrible, she well knew. She pitied 
him, but when did pity wholly rule the heart of a 
woman? And as for Nelly Lebrun, she had the 
ambition of a young Caesar; she could not fill a 
second place. He, who loved her must stand first, 
and she saw Donnegan as the invincible man. She 


HE TELLS NEW LIES 


267 


had not believed half of his explanation. No, he 
was shielding Lord Nick; behind that shield the 
truth was that the big man had quailed before the 
small. 

Of course she saw that Donnegan, pretending to 
be constrained by his agreement with Lord Nick, 
was in reality cunningly pleading his own cause. But 
his passion excused him. When has a woman con¬ 
demned a man for loving her beyond the rules of 
fair play? 

“Whatever you may decide/’ Donnegan was say¬ 
ing, “I shall be prepared to stand by it without a 
murmur. Send Landis back to your father’s house 
and I submit; I leave .The Corner and say farewell. 
But now, think quickly. For Lord Nick is coming 
to receive your answer.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


HE CONQUERS 

I F the meeting between Lord Nick and Donnegan 
earlier that day had wrought up the nerves of 
The Corner to the point of hysteria; if the singular 
end of that meeting had piled mystery upon excite¬ 
ment; if the appearance of Donnegan, sitting calmly 
at the table of the girl who was known to be en¬ 
gaged to Nick, had further stimulated public curi¬ 
osity, the appearance of Lord Nick was now a 
crowning burden under which The Corner staggered. 

Yet not a man or a woman stirred from his chair, 
for every one knew that if the long-delayed battle 
between these two gun fighters was at length to take 
place, neither bullet was apt to fly astray. 

But what happened completed the wreck of The 
Corner’s nerves, for Lord Nick walked quietly across 
the floor and sat down with Nelly Lebrun and his 
somber rival. 

Oddly enough, he looked at Donnegan, not at the 
girl, and this token of the beaten man d^ided her. 
“Well?” said Lord Nick. 

“I have decided,” said the girl. “Landis should 
stay where he is.” 

Neither of the two men stirred hand or eye. But 
Lord Nick turned gray. At length he rose and 
asked Donnegan, quietly, to step aside with him. 
Seeing them together, the difference between their 
sizes was more apparent: Donnegan seemd hardly 
larger than a child beside the splendid bulk of 
Lord Nick. But she could not overhear their talk. 


HE CONQUERS 269 

“You’ve won,” said Lord Nick, “both Landis and 
Nelly. And--” 

“Wait,” broke in Donnegan eagerly. “Henry, I’ve 
persuaded Nelly to see my side of the case, but that 
doesn’t mean that she has turned from you to-” 

“Stop!” put in Lord Nick, between his teeth. 
“I’ve not come to argue with you or ask advice or 
opinions. I’ve come to state facts. You’ve crawled 
in between me and Nelly like a snake in the grass. 
Very well. You’re my brother. That keeps me 
from handling you. You’ve broken my reputation 
just as I said you would do. The bouncer at the 
door looked me in the eye and smiled when I 
came in.” 

He had to pause a little, breathing heavily, and 
avoiding Donnegan’s eyes. Finally he was able to 
continue. 

“I’m going to roll my blankets and leave The 
Corner and everything I have in it. You’ll get my 
share of most things, it seems.” He smiled after a 
ghastly, mirthless fashion. “I give you a free road. 
I surrender everything to you, Donnegan. But there 
are two things I want to warn you about. It may 
be that my men will not agree with me. It may be 
that they’ll want to put up a fight for the mine. 
They can’t get at it without getting at Macon. They 
can’t get at him without removing you. And they’ll 
probably try it. I warn you now. 

“Another thing: from this moment there’s no 
blood tie between us. I’ve found a brother and lost 
him in the same day. And if I ever cross you again, 
Donnegan, I’ll shoot you on sight. Remember, I’m 
not threatening. I simply warn you in advance. 
If I were you, I’d get out of the country. Avoid 
me, Donnegan, as you’d avoid the devil.” 




270 


DONNEGAN 


And he turned on his heel. He felt the eyes of 
the people in the room follow him by jerks, dwelling 
on every one of his steps. Near the door, stepping 
aside to avoid a group of people coming in, he half 
turned and he could not avoid the sight of Donne- 
gan and Nelly Lebrun at the other end of the room. 
He was leaning across the table, talking with a 
smile on his lips—at that distance he could not 
mark the pallor of the little man's face—and Nelly 
Lebrun was laughing. Laughing already, and ob¬ 
livious of the rest of the world. 

Lord Nick turned, a blur coming before his eyes 
and made blindly for the door. A body collided 
with him; without a word he drew back his massive 
right fist and knocked the man down. The stunned 
body struck against the wall and collapsed along the 
floor. Lord Nick felt a great madness swell in 
his heart. Yet he set his teeth, controlled himself, 
and went on toward the house of Lebrun. He had 
come within an eyelash of running amuck, and the 
quivering hunger for action was still swelling and 
ebbing in him when he reached the gambler's house. 

Lebrun was not in the gaming house, no doubt, 
at this time of night—but the rest of Nick's chosen 
men were there. They stood up as he entered the 
room—Harry Masters, newly arrived—The Pedlar 
—Joe Rix—three names famous in the mountain 
desert for deeds which were not altogether a pleas¬ 
ant aroma in the nostrils of the law-abiding, but 
whose sins had been deftly covered from legal proof 
by the cunning of Nick, and whose bravery itself had 
half redeemed them. They rose now as three wolves 
rise at the coming of the leader. But this time there 
was a question behind their eyes, and he read it in 
gloomy silence. 


HE CONQUERS 


271 


“Well?” asked Harry Masters. 

In the old days not one of them would have 
dared to voice the question, but now things were 
changing, and well Lord Nick could read the change 
and its causes. 

“Are you talking to me?” asked Nick, and he 
looked straight between the eyes of Masters. 

The glance of the other did not falter, and it mad¬ 
dened Nick. 

“I’m talking to you,” said Masters coolly enough. 
“What happened between you and Donnegan?” 

“What should happen?” asked Lord Nick. 

“Maybe all this is a joke,” said Masters bitterly. 
He was a square-built man, with a square face and a 
wrinkled, fleshy forehead. In intelligence, Nick 
ranked him first among the men. And if a new 
leader were to be chosen there w£s no doubt as to 
where the choice of the men would fall. No doubt 
that was why Masters put himself forward now, 
ready to brave the wrath of the chief. “Maybe 
we’re fooled,” went on Masters. “Maybe they ain’t 
any call for you to fall out with Donnegan?” 

“Maybe there’s a call to find out this,” answered 
Lord Nick. “Why did you leave the mines? What 
are you doing up here?” 

The other swallowed so hard that he blinked. 

“I left the mines,” he declared through his set 
teeth, “because I was run off ’em.” 

“Ah,” said Lord Nick, for the devil was rising in 
him, “I always had an idea that you might be yellow. 
Masters.” 

The right hand of Masters swayed toward his 
gun, hesitated, and then poised idly. 

“You heard me talk?” persisted Lord Nick bru¬ 
tally. “I call you yellow. Why don’t you draw on 


2J2 


DONNEGAN 


me? I called you yellow, you swine, and I call the 
rest of you yellow. You think you have me down? 
Why, curse you, if there were thirty of your cut. 
I’d say the same to you! ,, 

There was a quick shift, the three men faced Lord 
Nick, but each from a different angle. And oppos¬ 
ing them, he stood superbly indifferent, his arms 
folded, his feet braced. His arms were folded, but 
each hand, for all they knew, might be grasping the 
butt of a gun hidden away in his clothes. Once 
they flashed a glance from face to face; but there 
was no action. They were remembering only too 
well some of the wild deeds of this giant. 

“You think Fm through,” went on Lord Nick. 
“Maybe I am—through with you. You hear me 
talk?” 

One by one, his eyes dared them, and one by one 
they took up the challenge, struggled, and lowered 
their glances. He was still their master and in that 
mute moment the three admitted it, The Pedlar 
last of all. 

Masters saw fit to fall back on the last remark. 

“Fve swallowed a lot from you, Nick,” he said 
gravely. “Maybe there’ll be an end to what we take 
one of these days. But now Fll tell you how yellow 
I was. A couple of gents come to me and tell me 
Fm through at the mine. I told them they were 
crazy. They said old Colonel Macon had sent them 
down to take charge. I laughed at ’em. They went 
away and came back. Who with? With the sheriff. 
And he flashed a paper on me. It was all drawn 
up clean as a whistle. Trimmed up with a lot of 
‘whereases’ and ‘as hereinbefore mentioned’ and such 
like things. But the sheriff just gimme a look and 
then he tells me what it’s about. Jack Landis has 


HE CONQUERS 


273 

signed over all the mines to the colonel and the 
colonel has taken possession.” 

As he stopped, a growl came from the others. 

“Lester is the man that has the complaint,” said 
Lord Nick. “Where do the rest of you figure in it? 
Lester had the mines; he lost ’em because he couldn’t 
drop Landis with his gun. He’d never have had a 
smell of the gold if I hadn’t come in. Who made 
Landis see light? I did! Who worked it so that 
every nickel that came out of the mines went through 
the fingers of Landis and came back to us? I did! 
But I’m through with you. You can hunt for your¬ 
selves now. I’ve kept you together to guard one 
another’s backs. I’ve kept the law off your trail. 
You, Masters, you’d have swung for killing the 
McKay brothers. Who saved you? Who was it 
bribed the jury that tried you for the shooting up 
of Derbyville, Pedlar? Who took the marshal off 
your trail after you’d knifed ‘Lefty’ Waller, Joe 
Rix? I’ve saved you all a dozen times. Now you 
whine at me. I’m through with you forever!” 

Stopping, he glared about him. His knuckles 
stung from the impact of the blow he had delivered 
in Milligan’s place. He hungered to have one of 
these three stir a hand and get into action. 

And they knew it. All at once they crumbled and 
became clay in his hands. 

“Chief,” said Joe Rix, the smoothest spoken of 
the lot, and one who was supposed to stand specially 
well with Lord Nick on account of his ability to 
bake beans, Spanish. “Chief, you’ve said a whole 
pile. You’re worth more’n the rest of us all rolled 
together. Sure. We know that. There ain’t any 
argument. But here’s just one little point that I 
want to make. 


274 


DONNEGAN 


“We was doing fine. The gold was running fine 
and free. Along comes this Donnegan. He busts 
up our good time. He forks in on your girl-” 

A convulsion of the chief’s face made Rix waver 
in his speech and then he went on: “He shoots 
Landis, and when he misses killing him—by some 
accident, he comes down here and grabs him out of 
Lebrun’s own house. Smooth, eh? Then he makes 
Landis sign that deed to the mines. Oh, very nice 
work, I say. Too nice. 

“Now, speakin’ man to man, they ain’t any doubt 
that you’d like to get rid of Donnegan. Why don’t 
you? Because everybody has a jinx, and he’s yours. 
I ain’t easy scared, maybe, but I knew an albino 
with white eyes once, and just to look at him made 
me some sick. Well, chief, they ain’t nobody can 
say that you ever took water or ever will. But 
maybe the fact that this Donnegan has hair just 
as plumb red as yours may sort of get you off your 
feed. I’m just suggesting. Now, what I say is, 
let the rest of us take a crack at Donnegan, and 
you sit back and come in on the results when we’ve 
cleaned up. D’you give us a free road?” 

How much went through the brain of Lord 
Nick? But in the end he gave his brother up to 
death. For he remembered how Nelly Lebrun had 
sat in Milligan’s laughing. 

“Do what you want,” he said suddenly. “But I 
want to know none of your plans—and the man that 
tells me Donnegan is dead gets paid—in lead!” 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 


HE IS TEMPTED WITH GOLD 

r |‘ 1 HE smile of Joe Rix was the smile of a diplo- 
mat. It could be maintained upon his face as 
unwaveringly as if it were wrought out of marble 
while Joe heard insult and lie. As a matter of fact 
Joe had smifed in the face of death more than once, 
and this is a school through which even diplomats 
rarely pass. Yet it was with an effort that he main¬ 
tained the characteristic good-natured expression 
when the door to Donnegan’s shack opened and he 
saw big George and, beyond the negro, Donnegan 
himself. 

“Booze,” said Joe Rix to himself instantly. 

For Donnegan was a wreck. The unshaven beard 
—it was the middle of morning—was a reddish mist 
over his face. His eyes were sunken in shadow. 
His hair was uncombed. He sat with his shoulders 
hunched up like one who suffers from cold. Alto¬ 
gether his appearance was that of one whose energy 
has been utterly sapped. 

“The top of the morning, Mr. Donnegan,” said 
Joe Rix, and put his foot on the threshold. 

But since big George did not move it was im¬ 
possible to enter. 

“Who’s there?” asked Donnegan. 

It was a strange question to ask, for by raising 
his eyes he could have seen. But Donnegan was 
staring down at the floor. Even his voice was a 
weak murmur. 


2/6 


DONNEGAN 


“What a party! What a party he’s had! ,, thought 
Joe Rix, and, after all, there was cause for a cele¬ 
bration. Had not the little man in almost one stroke 
won the heart of the prettiest girl in The Corner, 
and also did he not probably have a working share 
in the richest of the diggings? 

“I’m Joe Rix,” he said. 

“Joe Rix?” murmured Donnegan softly. “Then 
you’re one of Lord Nick’s men?” 

“I was” said Joe Rix, “sort of attached to him, 
maybe.” 

Perhaps this pointed remark won the interest of 
Donnegan. He raised his eyes, and Joe Rix beheld 
the most unhappy face he had ever seen. “A bad 
hang-over,” he decided, “and that makes it bad for 
me!” 

“Come in,” said Donnegan in the same monoto¬ 
nous, lifeless voice. 

Big George reluctantly, it seemed, withdrew to 
one side, and Rix was instantly in the room and 
drawing out a chair so that he could face Donnegan. 

“I was,” he proceeded, “sort of tied up with Lord 
Nick. But”—and here he winked broadly—“it ain’t 
much of a secret that Nick ain’t altogether a lord 
any more. Nope. Seems he turned out sort of 
common, they say.” 

“What fool,” murmured Donnegan, “has told you 
that? What ass has told you that Lord Nick is 
a common sort?” 

It shocked Joe Rix, but being a diplomat he 
avoided friction by changing his tactics. 

“Between you and me,” he said calmly enough, 
“I took what I heard with a grain of salt. There’s 
something about Nick that ain’t common, no matter 
what they say. Besides, they’s some men that 


HE IS TEMPTED WITH GOLD 277 

nobody but a fool would stand up to. It ain’t 
hardly a shame for a man to back down from ’em.” 

He pointed this remark with a nod to Donnegan. 

‘Til give you a bit of free information,” said the 
little man, and his weary eyes lighted a little. 
“There’s no man on the face of the earth who could 
make Lord Nick back down.” 

Once more Joe Rix was shocked to the verge 
of gaping, but again he exercised a power of mar¬ 
velous self-control. 

“About that,” he remarked as pointedly as before, 
“I got my doubts. Because there’s some things that 
any gent with sense will always clear away from. 
Maybe not one man—but say a bunch all standin’ 
together.” 

Donnegan leaned back in his chair and waited. 
Both of his hands remained drooping from the edge 
of the table, and the tired eyes drifted slowly across 
the face of Joe Rix. 

It was obviously not the after effects of liquor. 
The astonishing possibility occurred to Joe Rix that 
this seemed to be a man with a broken spirit and a 
great sorrow. He blinked that absurdity away. 

“Coming to cases,” he went on, “there’s yourself, 
Mr. Donnegan. Now, you’re the sort of a man that 
don’t sidestep nobody. Too proud to do it. But 
even you, I guess, would step careful if there was 
a whole bunch agin’ you.” 

“No doubt,” remarked Donnegan. 

“I don’t mean any ordinary bunch,” explained 
Joe Rix, “but a lot of hard fellows. Gents that 
handle their guns like they was born with a holster 
on the hip.” 

“Fellows like Nick’s crowd,” suggested Donnegan 
quietly. 


278 


DONNEGAN 


At this thrust the eyes of Joe narrowed a little. 

“Yes,” he admitted, “I see you get my drift.” 

“I think so.” 

“Two hard fighters would give the best man that 
ever pulled a gun a lot of trouble. Eh?” 

“No doubt.” 

“And three men—they ain’t any question, Mr. 
Donnegan—would get him ready for a hole in the 
ground.” 

“I suppose so.” 

“And four men would make it no fight—jest a 
plain butchery.” 

“Yes?” 

“Now, I don’t mean that Nick’s crowd has any 
hard feeling about you, Mr. Donnegan.” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

“I knew you’d be. That’s why I’ve come, all 
friendly, to talk things over. Suppose you look at 
it this way-” 

“Joe Rix,’ ? broke in Donnegan, sighing, “I’m 
very tired. Won’t you cut this short? Tell me in 
ten words just how you stand.” 

Joe Rix blinked once more, caught his breath, and 
fired his volley. 

“Short talk is straight talk, mostly,” he declared. 
“This is what Lester and the rest of us want— 
the mines!” 

“Ah?” 

“Macon stole ’em. We got 'em back through 
Landis. Now we’ve got to get ’em back through 
the colonel himself. But we can’t get at the colonel 
while you’re around.” 

“In short, you’re going to start out to get me? 
I expected it, but it’s kind of you to warn me.” 

“Wait, wait, wait! Don’t rush along to con- 



HE IS TEMPTED WITH GOLD 


279 


elusions. We ain’t so much in a hurry. We don’t 
want you out of the way. We just want you on 
our side.” 

“Shoot me up and then bring me back to life, 
eh?” 

“Mr. Donnegan,” said the other, spreading out his 
hands solemnly on the table, “you ain’t doin’ us 
justice. We don’t hanker none for trouble with you. 
Anyway it comes, a fight with you means somebody 
dead besides you. We’d get you. Four to one is 
too much for any man. But one or two of us 
might go down. Who would it be? Maybe The 
Pedlar, maybe Harry Masters, maybe Lester, maybe 
me! Oh, we know all that. No gun play if we can 
keep away from it.” 

“You’ve left out the name of Lord Nick,” said 
Donnegan. 

Joe Rix winked. 

“Seems like you tended to him once and for all 
when you got him alone in this cabin. Must have 
thrown a mighty big scare into him. He won’t lift 
a hand agin’ you now.” 

“No?” murmured Donnegan hoarsely. 

“Not him! But that leaves four of us, and four 
Is plenty, eh?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“But I’m not here to insist on that point. No, 
we put a value on keepin’ up good feeling between 
us and you, Mr. Donnegan. We ain’t fools. We 
know a man when we see him—-and the fastest gun¬ 
man that ever slid a gun out of leather ain’t the 
sort of a man that me and the rest of the boys 
pass over lightly. Not us! We know you, Mr. 
Donnegan; we respect you; we want you with us; 
we’re going to have you with us.” 


280 


DONNEGAN 


“You flatter me and I thank you. But I’m glad 
to see that you are at last coming to the point.” 

“I am, and the point is five thousand dollars that’s 
tied behind the hoss that stands outside your door.” 

He pushed his fat hand a little way across the 
table, as though the gold even then were resting in 
it, a yellow tide of fortune. 

“For which,” said Donnegan, “I’m to step aside 
and let you at the colonel?” 

“Right.” 

Donnegan smiled. 

“Wait,” said Joe Rix. “I was makin’ a first offer 
to see how you stood, but you’re right. Five thou¬ 
sand ain’t enough and we ain’t cheap skates. Not 
us. Mr. Donnegan, they’s ten thousand cold iron 
men behind that saddle out there and every cent 
of it belongs to you when you come over on our 
side.” 

But Donnegan merely dropped his chin upon his 
hand and smiled mirthlessly at Joe Rix. A wild 
thought came to the other man. Both of Donnegan’s 
hands were far from his weapons. Why not a quick 
draw, a snap shot, and then the glory of having 
killed this man slayer in single battle for Joe Rix? 

The thought rushed red across his brain and then 
faded slowly. Something kept him back. Perhaps 
it was the singular calm of Donnegan; no matter 
how quiet he sat he suggested the sleeping cat which 
can leap out of dead sleep into fighting action at a 
touch. By the time a second thought had come to 
Joe Rix the idea of an attack was like an idea of 
suicide. 

“Is that final?” he asked, though Donnegan had 
not said a word. 

“It is.” 


HE IS TEMPTED WITH GOLD 


281 


Joe Rix stood up. 

“You put it to us kind of hard. But we want 
you, Mr. Donnegan. And here’s the whole thing in 
a nutshell. Come over to us. We’ll stand behind 
you. Lord Nick is slipping. We’ll put you in his 
place. You won’t even have to face him; we’ll get 
rid of him.” 

“You’ll kill him and give his place to me?” asked 
Donnegan. 

“We will. And when you’re with us, you cut in 
on the whole amount of coin that the mines turn 
out—and it’ll be something tidy. And right now, to 
show where we stand and how high we put you, 
I’ll let you in on the rock-bottom truth. Mr. Don¬ 
negan, out there tied behind my saddle there’s thirty 
thousand dollars in pure gold. You can take it in 
here and weigh it out!” 

He stepped back to watch this blow take effect. 
To his unutterable astonishment the little man had 
not moved. His chin still rested upon the back of 
his hand, and the smile which was on the lips and 
not in the eyes of Donnegan remained there, fixed. 

“Donnegan,” muttered Joe Rix, “if we can’t get 
you, we’ll get rid of you. You understand?” 

But the other continued to smile. 

It gave Joe Rix a shuddering feeling that some 
one was stealing behind him to block his way to the 
door. He cast one swift glance over his shoulder 
and then, seeing that the way was clear, he slunk 
back, always keeping his face to the red-headed man. 
But when he came to the doorway his nerve col¬ 
lapsed. He whirled, covered the rest of the distance 
with a leap, and emerged from the cabin in a fashion 
ludicrously like one who has been kicked through a 
door. 


202 


DONNEGAN 


His nerve returned as soon as the sunlight fell 
warmly upon him again; and he looked around 
hastily to see if any one had observed his flight. 

There was no one on the whole hillside except 
Colonel Macon in the invalid chair, and the colonel 
was smiling broadly, beneficently. He had his per¬ 
fect hands folded across his breast and seemed to 
cast a prayer of peace and good will upon Joe Rix. 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


HE HAS AN ALLY 

^MELLY LEBRUN smelled danger. She sensed it 
* as plainly as the deer when the puma comes 
between her and the wind. The many tokens that 
something was wrong came to her by small hints 
which had to be put together before they assumed 
any importance. 

First of all, her father, who should have burst 
out at her in a tirade for having left Lord 
Nick for Donnegan said nothing at all, but kept 
a dark smile on his face when she was near him. 
He even insinuated that Nick’s time was done 
and that another was due to supercede him. 

In the second place, she had passed into a room 
where Masters, Joe Rix, and The Pedlar sat cheek 
by jowl in close conference with a hum of deep 
voice. But at her appearance all talk was broken off. 

It was not strange that they should not invite 
her into their confidence if they had some dark 
work ahead of them; but it was exceedingly sus¬ 
picious that Joe Rix attempted to pass off their 
whispers by immediately breaking off the soft talk 
and springing into the midst of a full-fledged jest; 
also, it was strangest of all that when the jest 
ended even The Pedlar, who rarely smiled, now 
laughed uproariously and smote Joe soundingly upon 
the back. 

Even a child could have strung these incidents 
into a chain of evidence which pointed toward 


284 


DONNEGAN 


danger. Obviously the danger was not directly 
hers, but then it must be directed at some one near 
to her. Her father? No, he was more apt to be 
the mainspring of their action. Lord Nick? There 
was nothing to gain by attacking him. Who was 
left? Donnegan! 

As the realization came upon her it took her 
breath away for a moment. Donnegan was the 
man. At breakfast every one had been talking 
about him. Lebrun had remarked that he had a: 
face for the cards—emotionless. Joe Rix had com¬ 
mented upon his speed of hand, and The Pedlar 
had complimented the little man on his dress. 

But at lunch not a word was spoken about Don¬ 
negan even after she had dexterously introduced 
the subject twice. Why the sudden silence? 1 Be¬ 
tween morning and noon Donnegan must have 
grievously offended them. 

Fear for his sake stimulated her; but above and 
beyond this, indeed, there was a mighty feminine 
curiosity. She smelled the secret; it reeked through 
the house, and she was devoured by eagerness to 
know. She hand-picked Lord Nick’s gang in the 
hope of finding a weakness among them; some 
weakness upon which she could play in one of them 
and draw out what they were all concealing. The 
Pedlar was as unapproachable as a crag on a moun- 
taintop. Masters was wise as an outlaw broncho. 
Lester was probably not even in the confidence of 
the others because since the affair with Landis his 
nerve had been shattered to bits and the others 
secretly despised him for being beaten by the 
youngster at the draw. There remained, therefore, 
only Joe Rix. 

But Joe Rix was a fox of the first quality. He 


HE HAS AN ALLY 


285 


lied with the smoothness of silk. He could show 
a dozen colors is as many moments. Come to the 
windward of Joe Rix? It was a delicate business! 
But since there was nothing else to do, she fixed her 
mind upon it, working out this puzzle. Joe Rix 
wished to destroy Donnegan for reasons that were 
evidently connected with the mines. And she must 
step into his confidence to discover his plans. How 
should it be done ? And there was a vital need 
for speed, for they might be within a step of 
executing whatever mischief it was that they were 
planning. 

She went down from her room; they were there 
still, only Joe Rix was not with them. She went 
to the apartment where he and the other three of 
Nick's gang slept and rapped at the door. He 
maintained his smile when he saw her, but there 
was an uncertain quiver of his eyebrows that told 
her much. Plainly he was ill at ease. Suspicious? 
Ay, there were always clouds of suspicion drifting 
over the red, round face of Joe Rix. She put a 
tremor of excitement and trouble in her voice. 

“Come into my room, Joe, where we won’t be 
interrupted.” 

He followed her without a word, and since she 
led the way she was able to relax her expression 
for a necessary moment. When she closed the door 
behind him and faced Joe again she was once more 
ready to step into her part. She did not ask him 
to sit down. She remained for a moment with her 
hand on the knob and searched the face of Joe Rix 
eagerly. 

“Do you think he can hear?” she whispered, 
gesturing over her shoulder. 

“Who?” 


286 


DONNEGAN 


“Who but Lord Nick!” she exclaimed softly. 

The bewilderment of Joe clouded his face a 
second and then he was able to smooth it away. 
What on earth was the reason of her concern about 
Lord Nick he was obviously wondering. 

‘Til tell you why,” she said, answering the un¬ 
spoken question at once. “He’s as jealous as the 
devil, Joe!” 

The fat little man sighed as he looked at her. 

“He can’t hear. Not through that log wall. 
But we’ll talk soft, if you want.” 

“Yes, yes. Keep your voice down. He’s al¬ 
ready jealous of you, Joe.” 

“Of me?” 

“He knows I like you, that I trust you; and just 
now he’s on edge about every one I look at.” 

The surprising news which the first part of this 
sentence contained caused Joe to gape, and the girl 
looked away in concern, enabling him to control his 
expression. For she knew well enough that men 
hate to appear foolishly surprised. And particularly 
a fox like Joe Rix. 

“But what’s the trouble, Nelly?” He added 
with a touch of venom: “I thought everything was 
going smoothly with you. And I thought you 
weren’t worrying much about what Lord Nick had 
in his mind.” 

She stared at him as though astonished. 

“Do you think just the same as the rest of them?” 
she asked sadly. “Do you mean to say that you’re 
fooled just the same as Harry Masters and The 
Pedlar and the rest of those fools—including Nick 
himself?” 

Joe Rix was by no means willing to declare him- 


HE HAS AN ALLY 28^ 

self a fool beforehand. He now mustered a look 
of much reserved wisdom. 

“I have my own doubts, Nell, but I’m not talking 
about them.” 

He was so utterly at sea that she had to bite her 
lip hard to keep from breaking into ringing laughter. 

“Oh, I knew that you’d seen through it, Joe,” 
she cried softly. “You see what an awful mess 
I’ve gotten into?” 

He passed a hurried hand across his forehead and 
then looked at her searchingly. But he could not 
penetrate her pretense of concern. 

“No matter what I think,” said Joe Rix, “you 
come out with it frankly. I’ll listen.” 

“As a friend, Joe?” 

She managed to throw a plea into her voice 

that made Joe sigh. 

“Sure. You’ve already said that I’m your friend, 
and you’re right.” 

“I’m in terrible, terrible trouble! You know 
how it happened. I was a fool. I tried to play 

with Lord Nick. And now he thinks I was in 

earnest.” 

As though the strength of his legs had given 

way, Joe Rix slipped down into a chair. 

“Go on,” he said huskily. “You were playing 
with Lord Nick?” 

“Can’t you put yourself in my place, Joe? It’s 
always been taken for granted that I’m to marry 
Nick. And the moment he comes around every¬ 
body else avoids me as if I were poison. I was 

,sick of it. And when he showed up this time it 

was the same old story. A man would as soon 

sign his own death warrant as ask me for a dance. 

You know how it is?” 


288 


DONNEGAN 


He nodded, still at sea, but with a light begin¬ 
ning to dawn in his little eyes. 

“I’m only a girl, Joe. I have all the weakness 
of other girls. I don’t want to be locked up in a 
cage just because I—love one man!” 

The avowal made Joe blink. It was the second 
time that day that he had been placed in an astonish¬ 
ing scene. But some of his old cunning remained 
to him. 

“Nell,” he said suddenly, rising from his chair 
and going to her. “What are you trying to do to 
me? Pull the wool over my eyes?” 

It was too much for Nelly Lebrun. She knew 
that she could not face him without betraying her 
guilt and therefore she did not attempt it. She 
whirled and flung herself on her bed, face down, 
and began to sob violently, suppressing the sounds. 
And so she waited. 

Presently a hand touched her shoulder lightly. 

“Go away,” cried Nelly in a choked voice. “I 
hate you, Joe Rix. You're like all the rest!” 

His knee struck the floor with a soft thud. 

“Come on, Nell. Don’t be hard on me. I thought 
you were stringing me a little. But if you’re 
playing straight, tell me what you want?” 

At that she bounced upright on the bed, and 
before he could rise she caught him by both shoul¬ 
ders. 

“I want Donnegan,” she said fiercely. 

“What?” 

“I want him dead!” 

Joe Rix gasped. 

“Here’s the cause of all my trouble. Just because 
I flirted with him once or twice, Nick thought I 
was in earnest and now he’s sulking. And Donnegan 


HE HAS AN ALLY 


289 


puts on airs and acts as if I belonged to him. I 
hate him, Joe. And if he’s gone Nick will come 
back to me. He’ll come back to me, Joe; and I 
want him so!” 

She found that Joe Rix was staring straight 
into her eyes, striving to probe her soul to its depths, 
and by a great effort she was enabled to meet that 
gaze. Finally the fat little man rose slowly to his 
feet. Her hands trailed from his shoulders as he 
stood up and fell helplessly upon her lap. 

“Well, I’ll be hanged, Nell!” exclaimed Joe Rix. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re not acting a part? No, I can see you 

mean it. But what a cold-blooded little-” He 

checked himself. His face was suddenly jubilant. 
“Then we’ve got him, Nell. We’ve got him if you’re 
with us. We had him anyway, but we’ll make 
sure of him if you’re with us. Look at this! You 
saw me put a paper in my pocket when I opened the 
door of my room? Here it is?” 

He displayed before the astonished eyes of Nelly 
Lebrun a paper covered with an exact duplicate 
of her own swift, dainty script. And she read: 

Nick is terribly angry and is making trouble. I 

have to get away. It isn’t safe for me to stay here. 

Will you help me? Will you meet me at the shack 

by Donnell’s ford to-morrow morning at ten o’clock? 

“But I didn’t write it,” cried Nelly Lebrun, be¬ 
wildered. 

“Nelly,” Joe Rix chuckled, flushing with pleas¬ 
ure, “you didn’t. It was me. I kind of had an 
idea that you wanted to get rid of this Donnegan, 
and I was going to do it for you and then surprise 
you with the good news.” 



290 


DONNEGAN 


“Joe, you forged it?” 

“Don’t bother sayin’ pretty things about me and 
my pen,” said Rix modestly. “This is nothin’! 
But if you want to help me, Nelly-” 

His voice faded partly out of her consciousness 
as she fought against a tigerish desire to spring at 
the throat of the little fat man. But gradually it 
dawned on her that he was asking her to' write out 
that note herself. Why? Because it was possible 
that Donnegan might have seen her handwriting 
and in that case, though the imitation had been 
good enough to deceive Nelly herself, it probably 
would not for a moment fool the keen eyes of 
Donnegan. But if she herself wrote out the note, 
Donnegan was already as good as dead. 

“That is,” concluded Joe Rix, “if he really loves 
you, Nell.” 

“The fool!” cried Nelly. “He worships the 
ground I walk on, Joe. And I hate him for it.” 

Even Joe Rix shivered, for he saw the hate in 
her eyes and could not dream that he himself was 
the cause and the object of it. There was a red 
haze of horror and confusion in front of her eyes, 
and yet she was able to smile while she copied 
the note for Joe Rix. 

“But how are you going to work it?” she asked. 
“How are you going to kill him, Joe?” 

“Don’t bother your pretty head,” said the fat 
man, smiling. “Just wait till we bring you the 
good news.” 

“But are you sure ?” she asked eagerly. “See 
what he’s done already. He’s taken Landis away 
from us; he’s baffled Nick himself, in some manner; 
and he’s gathered the mines away from all of us. 



HE HAS AN ALLY 


291 

He’s a devil, Joe, and if you want to get him you’d 
better take ten men for the job.” 

“You hate him, Nell, don’t you?” queried Joe 
Rix, and his voice was both hard and curious. “But 
how has he harmed you?” 

“Hasn’t he taken Nick away from me? Isn’t 
that enough ?” 

The fat man shivered again. 

“All right. I’ll tell you how it works. Now, 
listen!” 

And he began to check off the details of his plan. 


CHAPTER XL 


HE IS BOTH WARNED AND BETRAYED 

T HE day passed and the night, but how very 
slowly for Nelly Lebrun; she went up to 
her room early for she could no longer bear the 
meaning glances which Joe Rix cast at her from 
time to time. But once in her room it was still 
harder to bear the suspense as she waited for the 
noise to die away in the house. Midnight, and 
half an hour more went by, and then, at last, the 
murmurs and the laughter stopped; she alone was 
wakeful in Lebrun’s. And when that time came 
she caught a scarf around her hair and her shoul¬ 
ders, made of a filmy material which would veil her 
face but through which she could see, and ventured 
out of her room and down the hall. 

There was no particular need for such caution, 
however, it seemed. Nothing stirred. And pres¬ 
ently she was outside the house and hurrying be¬ 
hind the houses and up the hill. Still she met noth¬ 
ing. If The Corner lived to-night, its life was 
confined to Milligan’s and the gambling house. 

She found Donnegan’s shack and the one next 
to it, which the terrible colonel occupied, entirely 
dark, but only a moment after she tapped at the 
door it was opened. Donnegan, fully dressed, stood 
in the entrance, outlined blackly by the light which 
came faintly from the hooded lantern hanging on 
the wall. Was he sitting up all the night, unable 
to sleep because he waited breathlessly for that 


HE IS BOTH WARNED AND BETRAYED 293 

false tryst on the morrow? A great tenderness came 
over the heart of Nelly Lebrun. 

“It is I?” she whispered. 

There was a soft exclamation, then she was 
drawn into the room. 

“Is there any one here ?” 

“Only big George. But he’s in the kitchen and 
he won’t hear. He never hears anything except 
what’s meant for his ear. Take this chair!” 

He was putting a blanket over the rough wood 
to make it more comfortable, and she submitted 
dumbly to his ministrations. It seemed terrible and 
strange to her that one so gentle should be the object 
of so much hate—such deadly hate as the members 
of Nick’s gang felt for him. And now that he was 
sitting before her she could see that he had indeed 
been wakeful for a long time. His face was grimly 
wasted; the lips were compressed as one who has 
endured long pain; and his eyes gleamed at her out 
of a profound shadow. He remained in the gloom; 
the light from the lantern fell brightly upon his 
hands alone—meager, fleshless hands which seemed 
to represent hardly more strength than that of 
a child. Truly this man was all a creature of spirit 
and nerve. Therein lay his strength, as also his 
weakness, and again the cherishing instinct grew 
strong and swept over her. 

“There is no one near,” he said, “except the 
colonel and his daughter. They are up the hillside, 
somewhere. Did you see them?” 

“No. What in the world are they out for at this 
time of night?” 

“Because the colonel only wakes up when the 
sun goes down. And now he’s out there humming 
to himself a^d never speaking a word to the girl. 


294 


DONNEGAN 


But they won’t be far away. They’ll stay close to 
see that no one comes near the cabin to get at 
Landis.” 

He added: “They must have seen you come into 
my cabin!” 

And his lips set even harder than before. Was 
it fear because of her? 

“They may have seen me enter, but they won’t 
know who it was. You have the note from me?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s a lie! It’s a ruse. I was forced to write 
it to save you! For they’re planning to murder you. 
Oh, my dear!” 

“Hush! Hush! Murder?” 

“I’ve been nearly hysterical all day and all the 
night. But, thank Heaven, I’m here to warn you in 
time! You mustn’t go. You mustn’t go!” 

“Who is it?” 

He had drawn his chair closer; he had taken her 
hands, and she noted that his own were icy cold, 
but steady as rock. Their pressure soothed her 
infinitely. 

“Joe Rix, The Pedlar, Harry Masters. They’ll 
be at the shack at ten o’clock, but not I!” 

“Murder, but a very clumsy scheme. Three men 
leave town and commit a murder and then expect 
to go undetected? Not even in the mountain desert!” 

“But you don’t understand, you don’t understand! 
They’re wise as foxes. They’ll take no risk. They 
don’t even leave town together or travel by the 
same routes. Harry Masters starts first. He rides 
out at eight o’clock in the morning and takes the 
north trail. He rides down the gulch and winds 
out of it and strikes for the shack at the ford. 
At half past eight The Pedlar starts. He goes past 


HE IS BOTH WARNED AND BETRAYED 295 


Sandy’s place and then over the trail through the 
marsh. You know it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Last of all, Joe Rix starts at nine o’clock. Half 
an hour between them.” 

“How does he go to the shack?” 

“By the south trail. He takes the ridge of the 
hills. But they’ll all be at the shack long before you 
and they’ll shoot you down from a distance as you 
come up to it. Plain murder, but even for cowardly 
murder they daren’t face you except three to one.” 

He was thoughtful. 

“Suppose they were to be met on the way?” 

“You’re mad to think of it!” 

“But if they fail this time they’ll try again. They 
must be taught a lesson.” 

“Three men? Oh, my dear, my dear! Promise!” 

“Very well. I shall do nothing rash. And I shall 
never forget that you’ve come to tell me this and 
been in peril, Nell, for if they found you had come 
to me-” 

“The Pedlar would cut my throat. I know him!” 

“Ah! But now you must go. I’ll take you down 
the hill, dear.” 

“No, no! It’s much easier to get back alone. My 
face will be covered. But there’s no way you could 
be disguised. You have a way of walking—good 
night—and God bless you!” 

She was in his arms, straining him to her; and 
then she slipped out the door. 

And sure enough, there was the colonel in his 
chair not fifty feet away with a girl pushing him. 
The moonlight was too dim for Nelly Lebrun to 
make out the face of Lou Macon, but even the light 
which escaped through the filter of clouds was 



DONNEGAN 


296 

enough to set her golden hair glowing. The color 
was not apparent, but its luster was soft silver in 
the night. There was a murmur of the colonel’s 
voice as Nelly came out of the cabin. 

And then, from the girl, a low cry. 

It brought the blood to the cheeks of Nelly as she 
hurried down the hill, for she recognized the pain 
that was in it; and it occurred to her that if the 
girl was in love with Jack Landis she was strangely 
interested in Donnegan also. 

The thought came so sharply home to her that 
she paused abruptly on the way down the hill. After 
all, this Macon girl would be a very strange sort if 
she were not impressed by the little red-headed 
man, with his gentle voice and his fiery ways, and 
his easy way of making himself a brilliant spectacle 
whenever he appeared in public. And Nelly re¬ 
membered, also, with the keen suspicion of a woman 
in love how weakly Donnegan had responded to her 
embrace this night. How absent-mindedly his arms 
had held her, and how numbly they had fallen away 
when she turned at the door. 

But she shook her head and made the suspicion 
shudder its way out of her. Lou Macon, she de¬ 
cided, was just the sort of girl who would think 
Jack Landis an ideal. Besides, she had never had 
an opportunity to see Donnegan in his full glory 
at Milligan’s. And as for Donnegan ? He was 
wearied out; his nerves relaxed; and for the deeds 
with which he had startled The Corner and won 
her own heart he was now paying the penalty in the 
shape of ruined nerves. Pity again swelled in her 
heart, and a consuming hatred for the three mur¬ 
derers who lived in her father’s house. 

And when she reached her room again her heart 


HE IS BOTH WARNED AND BETRAYED 297 


was filled with a singing happiness and a glorious 
knowledge that she had saved the man she loved. 

And Donnegan himself? 

He had seen Lou and her father; he had heard 
that low cry of pain; and now he sat bowed again 
over his table, his face in his hands and a raging 
devil in his heart. 


CHAPTER XLI 


TOKENS OF HIS HANDIWORK 

T HERE was one complication which Nelly Le¬ 
brun might have foreseen after her pretended 
change of heart and her simulated confession to Joe 
Rix that she still loved the lionlike Lord Nick. But 
strangely enough she did not think of this phase; 
and even when her father the next morning ap¬ 
proached her in the hall and tapping her arm whis¬ 
pered: “Good girl l Nick has just heard and he’s 
hunting for you now!” Even then the full meaning 
did not come home to her. It was not until she 
saw the great form of Lord Nick stalking swiftly 
down the hall that she knew. He came with a glory 
in his face which the last day had graven with 
unfamiliar lines; and when he saw her he threw up 
his hand so that it almost brushed the ceiling, and 
cried out. 

What could she do? Try to push him away; to 
explain ? 

There was nothing to be done. She had to sub¬ 
mit when he swept her into his arms. 

“Rix has told me. Rix has told me. Ah, Nell, 
you little fox!” 

“Told you what, Nick?” 

Was he, too, a party to the murderous plan? 
But he allowed himself to be pushed away. 

“I’ve gone through something in the last few days. 
Why did you do it, girl?” 

She saw suddenly that she must continue to play 
her part. 


TOKENS OF HIS HANDIWORK 


299 


“Some day I’ll tell you why it was that I gave 
you up so easily, Nell. You thought I was afraid 
of Donnegan?” He ground his teeth and turned 
pale at the thought. “But that wasn’t it. Some 
day I can tell you. But after this, the first man 
who comes between us—Donnegan or any other— 
I’ll turn him into powder—under my heel!” 

He ground it into the floor as he spoke. She 
decided that she would see how much he knew. 

“It will never be Donnegan, at least,” she said. 
“He’s done for to-day. And I’m almost sorry for 
him in spite of all that he’s done.” 

He became suddenly grave. 

“What are you saying, Nell?” 

“Why, Joe told you, didn’t he? They’ve drawn 
Donnegan out of town, and now they’re lying in 
wait for him. Yes, they must have him, by this 
time. It’s ten o’clock!” 

A strangely tense exclamation broke from Lord 
Nick. “They’ve gone for Donnegan?” 

“Yes. Are you angry?” 

The big man staggered; one would have said that 
he had been stunned with a blow. 

“Garry!” he whispered. 

“What are you saying?” 

“Nell,” he muttered hoarsely, “did you know about 
it?” 

“But I did it for you, Nick. I knew you 
hated-” 

“No, no! Don’t say it!” He added bitterly, after 
a moment. “This is for my sins.” 

And then, to her: “But you knew about it and 
didn’t warn him? You hated him all the time you 
were laughing with him and smiling at him? Oh, 
Nell! What a merciless witch of a woman you 



300 


DONNEGAN 


are! For the rest of them—Fll wait till they come 
back !” 

“What are you going to do, Nick?” 

“I told them Fd pay the man who killed Donne- 
gan—with lead. Did the fools think I didn’t 
mean it?” 

Truly, no matter what shadow had passed over 
the big man, he was the lion again, and Nell shrank 
from him. 

“We’ll wait for them,” he said. “We’ll wait for 
them here.” 

And they sat down together in the room. She 
attempted to speak once in a shaken voice, but he 
silenced her with a gesture, and after that she sat 
and watched in quiet the singular play of varying 
expressions across his face. Grief, rage, tenderness, 
murderous hate—they followed like a puppet play. 

What was Donnegan to him? And then there 
was a tremor of fear. Would the three suspect 
when they reached the shack by the ford and no 
Donnegan came to them? The moments stole on. 
Then the soft beat of a galloping horse in the sand. 
The horse stopped. Presently they saw Joe Rix 
and Harry Masters pass in front of the window. 
And they looked as though a cyclone had caught 
them up, juggled them a dizzy distance in the air, 
and then flung them down carelessly upon bruising 
rocks. Their hats were gone; and the clothes of 
burly Harry Masters were literally torn from his 
back. Joe Rix was evidently far more terribly hurt, 
for he leaned on the arm of Masters and they came 
on together, staggering. 

“They’ve done the business!” exclaimed Lord 
Nick. “And now, curse them, I’ll do theirs!” 

But the girl could not speak. A black haze 


TOKENS OF HIS HANDIWORK 


301 


crossed before her eyes. Had Donnegan gone out 
madly to fight the three men in spite of her warn¬ 
ing? 

The door opened. They stood in the doorway, 
and if they had seemed a horrible sight passing the 
window, they were a deadly picture at close range. 
And opposite them stood Lord Nick; in spite of 
their wounds there was murder in his face and his 
revolver was out. 

“You’ve met him? You’ve met Donnegan?” 
he asked angrily. 

Masters literally carried Joe Rix to a chair and 
placed him in it. He had been shot through both 
shoulders, and though tight bandages had stanched 
the wound he was still in agony. Then Masters 
raised his head. 

“We’ve met him,” he said. 

“What happened?” 

But Masters, in spite of the naked gun in the 
hand of Lord Nick, was looking straight at Nelly 
Lebrun. 

“We fought him.” 

“Then say your prayers, Masters.” 

“Say prayers for The Pedlar, you fool,” said 
Masters bitterly. “He’s dead, and Donnegan’s still 
living!” 

There was a faint cry from Nelly Lebrun. She 
sank into her chair again. 

“We’ve been double-crossed,” said Masters, still 
looking at the girl. “I was going down the gulch 
the way we planned. I come to the narrow place 
where the cliffs almost touch, and right off the wall 
above me drops a wild cat. I thought it was a cat 
at first. And then I found it was Donnegan. 

“The way he hit me from above knocked me off 


302 


DONNEGAN 


the horse. Then we hit the ground. I started for 
my gun; he got it out of my hand; I pulled my 
knife. He got that away, too. His fingers work 
with steel springs and act like a cat’s claws. Then 
we fought barehanded. He didn’t say a word. But 
kept snarling in his throat. Always like a cat. And 
his face was devilish. Made me sick inside. Pretty 
soon he dived under my arms. Got me up in the 
air. I came down on my head. 

“Of course I went out cold. When I came to 
there was still a mist in front of my eyes and this 
lump on the back of my head. He’d figured that my 
head was cracked and that I was dead. That’s the 
only reason he left me. Later I climbed on my 
hoss and fed him the spur. 

“But I was too late. I took the straight cut for 
the ford, and when I got there I found that Don- 
negan had been there before me. Joe Rix was 
lyin’ on the floor. When he got to the shack Don- 
negan was waitin’ for him. They went for their 
guns and Donnegan beat him to it. The hound 
didn’t shoot to kill. He plugged him through both 
shoulders, and left him lyin’ helpless. But I got a 
couple of bandages on him and saved him. 

“Then we cut back for home and crossed the 
marsh. And there we found The Pedlar. 

“Too late to help him. Maybe Donnegan knew 
that The Pedlar was something of a flash with a 
gun himself, and he didn’t take any chances. He’d 
met him face to face the same way he met Joe Rix 
and killed him. Shot him clean between the eyes. 
Think of shooting for the head with a snapshot! 
That’s what he done and Joe didn’t have time to 
think twice after that slug hit him. His gun wasn’t 
even fired, he was beat so bad on the draw. 


TOKENS OF HIS HANDIWORK 303 

“So Joe and me come back home. And we come 
full of questions!” 

“Let me tell you something,” muttered Lord Nick, 
putting up the weapon which he had kept exposed 
during all of the recital. “You’ve got what was 
coming to you. If Donnegan hadn’t cleaned up on 
you, you’d have had to talk turkey with me. Un¬ 
derstand?” 

“Wait a minute,” protested Harry Masters. 

And Joe Rix, almost too far gone for speech, 
set his teeth over a groan and cast a look of hatred 
at the girl. 

“Wait a minute, chief. There’s one thing we 
all got to get straight. Somebody had tipped off 
Donnegan about our whole plan. Was it The Ped¬ 
lar or Rix or me? I guess good sense’ll tell a man 
that it wasn’t none of us, eh? Then who was it? 
The only other person that knew about the plan— 
Nell—Nell, the crooked witch—and it’s her that 
murdered The Pedlar—curse her!” 

He thrust out his bulky arm as he spoke. 

“Her that lied her way into our confidence with 
a lot of talk about you, Nick. Then what did she 
do? She goes runnin’ to the gent that she said she 
hated. Don’t you see her play? She makes fools 
of us—she makes a fool out of you!” 

She dared not meet the glance of Lord Nick. 
Even now she might have acted out her part and 
filled in with lies, but she was totally unnerved. 

“Get Rix to bed,” was all he said, and he did not 
even glance at Nelly Lebrun. 

Masters glowered at him, and then silently obeyed, 
lifting Joe as a helpless bulk, for the fat man was 
nearly fainting with pain. Not until they had gone 
and he had closed the door after them and upon 


304 


DONNEGAN 


the murmurs of the servants in the hall did Lord 
Nick turn to Nelly. 

“Is it true?” he asked shortly. 

Between relief and terror her mind was whirling. 

“Is what true?” 

“You haven't even sense enough to lie, Nell, eh? 
It’s all true, then? And last night, after you’d 
wormed it out of Joe, you went to Donnegan?” 

She could only stare miserably at him. 

“And that was why you pushed me away when 
I kissed you a little while ago?” 

Once more she was dumb. But she was beginning 
to be afraid. Not for herself, but for Donnegan. 

“Nell, I told you I’d never let another man come 
between us again. I meant it. I know you’re 
treacherous now; but that doesn’t keep me from 
wanting you. It’s Donnegan again—Donnegan still? 
Nell, you’ve killed him. As sure as if your own 
finger pulled the trigger when I shoot him. He’s 
a dead one, and you’ve done it!” 

If words would only come! But her throat was 
stiff and cold and aching. She could not speak. 

“You’ve done more than kill him,” said Lord 
Nick. “You’ve put a curse on me as well. And 
afterward I’m going to even up with you. You hear 
me? Nell, when I shoot Donnegan I’m doing a 
thing worse than if he was a girl-—or a baby. You 
can’t understand that; I don’t want you to know. 
But some time when you’re happy again and you’re 
through grieving for Donnegan, I’ll tell you the 
truth and make your heart black for the rest of 
your life.” 

Still words would not come. She strove to cling 
to him and stop him, but he cast her away with a 
single gesture and strode out the door. 


CHAPTER XLII 

HE MAKES A PRAYER 

'T’HERE was no crowd to block the hill at this 
second meeting of Donnegan and Lord Nick. 
There was a blank stretch of brown hillside with the 
wind whispering stealthily through the dead grass 
when Lord Nick thrust open the door of Donnegan’s 
shack and entered. 

The little man had just finished shaving and was 
getting back into his coat while George carried out 
the basin of water. And Donnegan, as he buttoned 
the coat, was nodding slightly to the rhythm of a 
song which came from the cabin of the colonel near 
by. It was a clear, high music, and though the 
voice was light it carried the sound far. Donnegan 
looked up to Lord Nick; but still he kept the beat 
of the music. 

He seemed even more fragile this morning than 
ever before. Yet Lord Nick was fresh from the 
sight of the torn bodies of the two fighting men 
whom this fellow had struck and left for dead, or 
dying, as he thought. 

“Dismiss your servant,” said Lord Nick. 

“George, you may go out.” 

“And keep him out.” 

“Don’t come back until I call for you.” 

Big George disappeared into the kitchen and the 
outside door was closed. Yet even with all the doors 


3°6 


DONNEGAN 


closed the singing of Lou Macon kept running 
through the cabin in a sweet and continuous thread. 

What made the ball so fine ? 

Robin Adair! 

What made the assembly shine ? 

Robin Adair! 

And no matter what Lord Nick could say, it 
seemed that with half his mind Donnegan was listen¬ 
ing to the song of the girl. 

“First,” said the big man, “I’ve broken my word.” 

Donnegan waved his hand and dismissed the 
charge. He pointed to a chair, but Lord Nick paid 
no heed. 

“Eve broken my word,” he went on. “I prom¬ 
ised that I’d give you a clear road to win over 
Nelly Lebrun. I gave you the road and you’ve 
won her, but now I’m taking her back!” 

“Ah, Henry,” said Donnegan, and a flash of 
eagerness came in his eyes. “You’re a thousand 
times welcome to her.” 

Lord Nick quivered. 

“Do you mean it?” 

“Henry, don’t you see that I was only playing 
for a purpose all the time? And if you’ve opened 
the eyes of Nelly to the fact that you truly love her 
and I’ve been only acting out of a heartless sham— 
why, I’m glad of it—I rejoice, Henry, I swear 
I do!” 

He came forward, smiling, and held out his hand; 
Lord Nick struck it down, and Donnegan shrank 
back, holding his wrist tight in the fingers of his 
other hand. 

“Is it possible?” murmured Henry Reardon. “Is 
it possible that she loves a man who despises her?” 


HE MAKES A PRAYER 


307 


“Not that! If any other man said this to me, 
I’d call for an explanation of his meaning, Henry. 
No, no! I honor and respect her, I tell you. By 
Heaven, Nick, she has a thread of pure, generous 
gold in her nature!” 

“Ah?” 

“She has saved my life no longer ago than this 
morning.” 

“It’s perfect,” said Lord Nick. And he writhed 
under a torment. “I am discarded for the sake of 
a man who despises her!” 

Donnegan, frowning with thought, watched his 
older brother. And still the thin singing entered the 
room, that matchless old melody of “Robin Adair;” 
the day shall never come when that song does not 
go straight from heart to heart. But because Don¬ 
negan still listened to it, Lord Nick felt that he was 
contemptuously received, and a fresh spur was driven 
into his tender pride. 

“Donnegan!” he said sharply. 

Donnegan raised his hand slowly. 

“Do you call me by that name?” 

“Aye. You’ve ceased to be a brother. There’s no 
blood tie between us now, as I warned you before.” 

Donnegan, very white, moved back toward the 
wall and rested his shoulders lightly against it, as 
though he needed the support. He made no answer. 

“I warned you not to cross me again,” exclaimed 
Lord Nick. 

“I have not.” 

“Donnegan, you’ve murdered my men!” 

“Murder? I’ve met them fairly. Not murder, 
Henry.” 

“Leave out that name, I say!” 

“If you wish,” said Donnegan very faintly. 


3°8 


DONNEGAN 


The sight of his resistlessness seemed to madden 
Lord Nick. He made one of his huge strides and 
came to the center of the room and dominated all 
that was in it, including his brother. 

“You murdered my men,” repeated Lord Nick. 
“You turned my girl against me with your lying 
love-making and turned her into a spy. You made 
her set the trap and then you saw that it was 
worked. You showed her how she could wind me 
around her finger again.” 

“Will you let me speak?” 

“Aye, but be short.” 

“I swear to you, Henry, that Eve never influenced 
her to act against you; except to win her away for 
just one little time, and she will return to you again. 
It is only a fancy that makes her interested in me. 
Look at us! How could any woman in her senses 
prefer me?” 

“Are you done?” 

“No, no! I have more to say; I have a thousand 
things!” 

“I shall not hear them.” 

“Henry, there is a black devil in your face. Be¬ 
ware of it.” 

“Who put it there?” 

“It was not I.” 

“What power then?” 

“Something over which I have no control.” 

“Are you trying to mystify me?” 

“Listen!” And as Donnegan raised his hand, the 
singing poured clear and small into the room. 

“That is the power,” said Donnegan. 

“You’re talking gibberish!” exclaimed the other 
pettishly. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to understand.” 


HE MAKES A PRAYER 


309 


“On the other hand, what I have to say is short 
and to the point. A child could comprehend it. 
You’ve stolen the girl. I tried to let her go. I 
can’t. I have to have her. Willing or unwilling she 
has to belong to me, Donnegan.” 

“If you wish, I shall promise that I shall never 
see her again or speak to her.” 

“You fool! Won’t she find you out? Do you 
think I could trust you? Only in one place—under¬ 
ground.” 

Donnegan had clasped his hands upon his breast 
and his eyes were wide. 

“What is it you mean, Henry?” 

“I’ll trust you—dead!” 

“Henry!” 

“That name means nothing to me. I’ve forgotten 
it. The world has forgotten it.” 

“Henry, I implore you to keep cool—to give me 
five minutes for talk-” 

“No, not one. I know your cunning tongue!” 

“For the sake of the days when you loved me, my 
brother. For the sake of the days when you used 
to wheel my chair and be kind to me.” 

“You’re wasting your time. You’re torturing us 
both for nothing. Donnegan, my will is a rock. 
It won’t change.” 

And drawing closer his right hand gripped his 
gun and the trembling ;assion of the gun fighter 
set him shuddering. 

“You’re armed, Garry. Go for your gun!” 

“No, no!” 

“Then I’ll give you cause to fight.” 

And as ne spoke, he drew back his massive arm 
and with his open hand smote Donnegan heavily 



3 io 


DONNEGAN 


across the face. The weight of that blow crushed 
the little man against the wall. 

“Your gun!” cried Lord Nick, swaying from side 
to side as the passion choked him. 

Donnegan fell upon his knees and raised his arms. 

“God have mercy on me, and on yourself!” 

At that the blackness cleared slowly on the face 
of the big man; he thrust his revolver into the 
holster. 

“This time,” he said, “there’s no death. But- 
sooner or later we meet, Donnegan, and then, I 
swear by all that lives, I’ll shoot you down—without 
mercy—like a mad dog. You’ve robbed me; you’ve 
hounded me; you’ve killed my men; you’ve taken the 
heart of the woman I love. And now nothing can 
save you from the end.” 

He turned on his heel and left the room. 

And Donnegan remained kneeling, holding a 
stained handkerchief to his face. 

All at once his strength seemed to desert him like 
a tree chopped at the root, and he wilted down 
against the wall with closed eyes. 

But the music still came out of the throat and 
the heart of Lou, and it entered the room and came 
into the ears of Donnegan. He became aware that 
there was a strength beyond himself which had 
sustained him, and then he knew it had been the 
singing of Lou from first to last which had kept 
the murder out of his own heart and restrained the 
hand of Lord Nick. 

Perhaps of all Donnegan’s life, this was the first 
moment of true humility. 


CHAPTER XLIII 


THE SACRIFICE 

O NE thing was now clear. He must not remain 
in The Corner unless he was prepared for 
Lord Nick again; and in a third meeting guns must 
be drawn. From that greater sin he shrank, and pre¬ 
pared to leave. His orders to big George made the 
negro’s eyes widen, but George had long since passed 
the point where he cared to question the decision of 
his master. He began to build the packs. 

As for Donnegan, he could see that there was lit¬ 
tle to be won by remaining. That would save Landis 
to Lou Macon, to be sure, but after all, he was be¬ 
ginning to wonder if it were not better to let the 
big fellow go back to his own kind—Lebrun and 
the rest. For if it needed compulsion to keep him 
with Lou now, might it not be the same story here¬ 
after? 

Indeed, Donnegan began to feel that all his labor 
in The Corner had been running on a treadmill. It 
had all been grouped about the main purpose, which 
was to keep Landis with the girl. To do that now 
he must be prepared to face Nick again; and to face 
Nick meant the bringing of the guilt of fratricide 
upon the head of one of them. There only remained 
flight. He saw at last that he had been fighting 
blindly from the first. He had won a girl whom 
he did not love—though doubtless her liking was 
only the most fickle fancy. And she for whom he 
would have died he had taught to hate him. It 


3 12 


DONNEGAN 


was a grim summing up. Donnegan walked the 
room whistling softly to himself as he checked up 
his accounts. 

One thing at least he had done; he had taken the 
joy out of his life forever. 

And here, answering a rap at the door, he opened 
it upon Lou Macon. She wore a dress of some very 
soft material. It was a pale blue—faded, no doubt 
—but the color blended exquisitely with her hair and 
with the flush of her face. It came to Donnegan 
that it was an unnecessary cruelty of chance that 
made him see the girl lovelier than he had ever 
seen her before at the very ^moment when he was 
surrendering the last shadow of a claim upon her. 

And it hurt him, also, to see the freshness of her 
face, the clear eyes; and to hear her smooth, un¬ 
troubled voice. She had lived untouched by anything 
save the sunshine in The Corner. 

Her glance flicked across his face and then flut¬ 
tered down, and her color increased guiltily. 

“I have come to ask you a favor,” she said. 

“Step in,” said Donnegan, recovering his poise at 
length. 

At this, she looked past him, and her eyes wid¬ 
ened a little. There was an imperceptible shrug of 
her shoulders, as though the very thought of enter¬ 
ing this cabin horrified her. And Donnegan had 
to bear that look as well. 

‘Til stay here; I haven’t much to say. It’s a small 
thing.” 

“Large or small,” said Donnegan eagerly. “Tell 
me!” 

“My father has asked me to take a letter for him 
down to the town and mail it. I—I understand 


THE SACRIFICE 


3i3 

that it would be dangerous for me to go alone. Will 
you walk with me?” 

And Donnegan turned cold. Go down into The 
Corner? Where by five chances out of ten he must 
meet his brother in the street? 

“I can do better still,” he said, smiling. ‘Til 
have George take the letter down for you.” 

“Thank you. But you see, father would not trust 
it to any one save me. I asked him; he was very 
firm about it.” 

“Tush! I would trust George with my life.” 

“Yes, yes. It is not what I wish—but my father 
rarely changes his mind.” 

Perspiration beaded the forehead of Donnegan. 
Was there no way to evade this easy request? 

“You see,” he faltered, “I should be glad to 

g°-” # 

She raised her eyes slowly. 

“But I am terribly busy this morning.” 

She did not answer, but half of her color left 
her face. 

“Upon my word of honor there is no danger to 
a woman in the town.” 

“But some of the ruffians of Lord Nick-” 

“If they dared to even raise their voices at you, 
they would hear from him an a manner that they 
would never forget.” 

“Then you don’t wish to go?” 

She was very pale now; and to Donnegan it was 
more terrible than the gun in the hand of Lord 
Nick. Even if she thought he was slighting her 
why should she take it so mortally to heart? For 
Donnegan, who saw all things, was blind to read 
the face of this girl. 




3i4 


DONNEGAN 


“It doesn't really matter,” she murmured and 
turned away. 

A gentle motion, but it wrenched the heart of 
Donnegan. He was instantly before her. 

“Wait here a moment. I’ll be ready to go down 
immediately.” 

“No. I can’t take you from your—work.” 

What work did she assign to him in her imagina¬ 
tion? Endless planning of deviltry no doubt. 

“I shall go with you,” said Donnegan. “At first 
—I didn’t dream it could be so important. Let 
me get my hat.” 

He left her and leaped back into the cabin. 

“I am going down into The Corner for a mo¬ 
ment,” he said over his shoulder to big George, as 
he took his belt down from the wall. 

The negro strode to the wall and took his hat 
from a nail. 

“I shall not need you, George.” 

But George merely grinned, and his big teeth 
flashed at the master. And in the second place he 
took up a gun from the drawer and offered it to 
Donnegan. 

“The gun in that holster ain’t loaded,” he said. 

Donnegan considered him soberly. 

“I know it. There’ll be no need for a loaded gun.” 

But once more George grinned. All at once Don¬ 
negan turned pale. 

“You dog,” he whispered. “Did you listen at the 
door when Nick was here?” 

“Me?” murmured George. “No, I just been 
thinking.” 

And so it was that while Donnegan went down the 
hill with Lou Macon, carrying an empty-chambered 
revolver, George followed at a distance of a few 


THE SACRIFICE 


3i5 

paces, and he carried a loaded weapon unknown to 
Donnegan. 

It was the dull time of the day in The Corner. 
There were very few people in the single street, 
and though most of them turned to look at the little 
man and the girl who walked beside him, not one 
of them either smiled or whispered. 

“You see?” said Donnegan. “You would have 
been perfectly safe—even from Lord Nick’s ruffians. 
That was one of his men we passed back there.” 

“Yes. I’m safe with you,” said the girl. 

And when she looked up to him, the blood of 
Donnegan turned to fire. 

Out of a shop door before them came a girl with 
a parcel under her arm. She wore a gay, semi¬ 
masculine outfit, bright-colored, jaunty, and she 
walked with a lilt toward them. It was Nelly Le¬ 
brun. And as she passed them, Donnegan lifted his 
hat ceremoniously high. She nodded to him with a 
smile, but the smile turned wan and small in an 
instant. There was a quick widening and then a 
narrowing of her eyes, and Donnegan knew that she 
had judged Lou Macon as only one girl can judge 
another who is lovelier. 

He glanced at Lou to see if she had noticed, and 
he saw her raise her head and go on with her glance 
proudly straight before her; but her face was very 
pale, and Donnegan knew that she had guessed 
everything that was true and far more than the 
truth. Her tone at the door of the post office 
was ice. 

“I think you are right, Mr. Donnegan. There’s 
no danger. And if you have anything else to do, 
I can get back home easily enough.” 

“I’ll wait for you,” murmured Donnegan sadly, 


316 


DONNEGAN 


and he stood at the door of the little building with 
bowed head. 

And then a murmur came down the street. How 
small it was, and how sinister! It consisted of ex¬ 
clamations begun, and then broken sharply off. A 
swirl of people divided as a cloud of dust divides 
before a blast of wind, and through them came 
the gigantic figure of Lord Nick! 

On he came, a gorgeous figure, a veritable king 
of men. He carried his hat in his hand and his red 
hair flamed, and he walked with great strides. Don- 
negan glanced behind him. The way was clear. 
If he turned, Lord Nick would not pursue him, he 
knew. 

But to flee even from his brother was more than 
he could do; for the woman he loved would know 
of it and could never understand. 

He touched the holster that held his empty gun— 
and waited! 

An eternity between every step of Lord Nick. 
Others seemed to have sensed the meaning of this 
silent scene. People seemed to stand frozen in the 
midst of gestures. Or was that because Donnegan’s 
own thoughts were traveling at such lightning speed 
that the rest of the world seemed standing still? 
What kept Lou Macon? If she were with him, not 
even Lord Nick in his madness would force on a 
gun play in the presence of a woman, no doubt. 

Lord Nick was suddenly close; he had paused; 
his voice rang over the street and struck upon Don- 
negan’s ear as sounds come under water. 

“Donnegan!” 

“Aye!” called Donnegan softly. 

“It’s the time!” 

“Aye,” said Donnegan. 


THE SACRIFICE 


317 


Then a huge body leaped before him; it was big 
George. And as he sprang his gun went up with 
his hand in a line of light. The two reports came 
close together as finger taps on a table, and big 
George, completing his spring, lurched face down¬ 
ward into the sand. 

Dead? Not yet. All the faith and selflessness 
which can make his people sometimes glorious was 
nerving the negro. And his master stood behind 
him, unarmed ! 

He reared himself upon his knees—an imposing 
bulk, even then, and fired ^gain. But his hand was 
trembling, and the bullet shattered a sign above the 
head of Lord Nick. He, in his turn, it seemed to 
Donnegan that the motion was slow, twitched up 
the muzzle of his weapon and fired once more from 
his hip. And big George lurched back on the sand, 
with his face upturned to Donnegan. He would 
have spoken, but a burst of blood choked him; yet 
as his eyes fixed and glazed, he mustered his last 
strength and offered his revolver to the master. 

But Donnegan let the hand fall limp to the ground. 
There were voices about him; steps running; but all 
that he clearly saw was Lord Nick with his feet 
braced, and his head high. 

“Donnegan! Your gun!” 

“Aye,” said Donnegan. 

“Take it then!” 

But in the crisis, automatically Donnegan flipped 
his useless revolver out of its holster and into his 
hand. At the same instant the gun from Nick’s 
hand seemed to blaze in his eyes. He was struck 
a crushing blow in his chest. He sank upon his 
knees; another blow struck his head, and Donnegan 
collapsed on the body of big George. 


CHAPTER XLIV 


HE FINDS SALVATION 

A N ancient drunkard in the second story of one 
of the stores across the street had roused him¬ 
self at the sound of the shots and now he dragged 
himself to the window and began to scream: “Mur¬ 
der! Murder!” over and over, and even The Cor¬ 
ner shuddered at the sound of his voice. 

Lord Nick, his revolver still in his hand, stalked 
through the film of people who now swirled about 
him, eager to see the dead. There was no call for 
the law to make its appearance, and the representa¬ 
tives of the law were wisely dilatory in The Corner. 

He stood over the two motionless figures with 
a stony face. 

“You saw it, boys,” he said. “You know what 
I’ve borne from this fellow. The nigger pulled his 
gun first on me. I shot in self-defense. As for— 
the other—it was a square fight.” 

“Square fight,” some one answered. “You both 
went for your irons at the same time. Pretty work, 
Nick.” 

It was a solid phalanx of men which had col¬ 
lected around the moveless bodies as swiftly as 
mercury sinks through water. Yet none of them 
touched either Donnegan or the negro. And then 
the solid group dissolved at one side. It was the 
moan of a woman which had scattered it, and a 
yellow-haired girl slipped through them. She glanced 
once, in horror, at the mute faces of the men, and 
then there was a wail as she threw herself on the 


HE FINDS SALVATION 


319 


body of Donnegan. Somewhere she found the 
strength of a man to lift him and place him face 
upward on the sand, the gun trailing limply in his 
hand. And then she lay, half crouched over him, 
her face pressed to his heart—listening—listening 
for the stir of life. 

Shootings were common in The Corner; the daily 
mortality ran high; but there had never been after¬ 
maths like this one. Men looked at one another, 
and then at Lord Nick. A bright spot of color had 
come in each of his cheeks, but his face was as 
hard as ever. 

“Get her away from him,” some one murmured. 

And then another man cried out, stooped, 
wrenched the gun from the limp hand of Donnegan 
and opened the cylinder. He spun it; daylight was 
glittering through the empty cylinder. 

At this the man stiffened, and with a low bow 
which would have done credit to a drawing-room, 
he presented the weapon butt first to Lord Nick. 

“Here's something the sheriff, will want to see,” 
he said, “but maybe you’ll be interested, too.” 

But Lord Nick, with the gun in his hand, stared at 
it dumbly, turned the empty cylinder. And the full 
horror crept slowly on his mind. He had not killed 
his brother, he had murdered him. As his eyes 
cleared, he caught the glitter of the eyes which sur¬ 
rounded him. 

And then Lou Macon was on her knees with her 
hands clasped at her breast and her face glorious. 

“Help!” she was crying. “Help me. He’s not 
dead, but he’s dying unless you help me!” 

Then Lord Nick cast away his own revolver and 
the empty gun of Donnegan. They heard him shout: 
“Garry!” and saw him stride forward. 


320 


DONNEGAN 


Instantly men pressed between, hard-jawed men 
who meant business. It was a cordon he would 
have to fight his way through; but he dissolved it 
with a word. 

“You fools! He’s my brother!” 

And then he was on his knees opposite Lou 
Macon. 

“You?” she had stammered in horror. 

“His brother, girl.” 

And ten minutes later, when the bandages had 
been wound, there was a strange sight of Lord 
Nick striding up the street with his victim in his 
arms. How lightly he walked; and he was talking 
to the calm, pale face which rested in the hollow of 
his shoulder. 

“He will live? He will live?” Lou Macon was 
pleading as she hurried^at the side of Lord Nick. 

“God willing, he shall live!” 

It was three hours before Donnegan opened his 
eyes. It was three days before he recovered his 
senses, and looking aside toward the door he saw 
a brilliant shaft of sunlight falling into the room. 
In the midst of it sat Lou Macon. She had fallen 
asleep in her great weariness now that the crisis 
was over. Behind her, standing, his great arms 
folded, stood the indomitable figure of Lord Nick. 

Donnegan saw and wondered greatly. Then he 
closed his eyes dreamily. 

“Hush,” said Donnegan to himself, as if afraid 
that what he saw was all a dream. “I’m in heaven, 
or if I’m not, it’s still mighty good to be alive.” 


THE END. 







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